


Suns and Stars

by stardustsroses



Series: Suns and Stars (a throne of glass + a court of thorns and roses story) [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Future Fic, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Next Generation, Original Character(s), Post-A Court of Frost and Starlight, Post-Book 7: Kingdom of Ash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 229,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustsroses/pseuds/stardustsroses
Summary: What happens when two Fae worlds finally meet? | Luna Moonbeam never found the powers she enherited from her father to be a curse, but when they accidentally teleport her to another strange, unknown world called Prythian, she is tempted to change her mind. | set in the future in both the throne of glass and acotar worlds. this is the story of the gen 2, where we will see the lives of our old favourites, as well as tell the stories of their children.Will the two worlds be eternal enemies, or fight to keep the peace together?This is a sequel to both this series:Heirs of the SunThe Archer. The Prey.a/n: *You do not have to know about my gen 2 characters, nor read these two series to read Suns and Stars.
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre, Emery/Tamlin, Eris Vanserra/Original Character(s), Fenrys/Vaughan (Throne of Glass), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Suns and Stars (a throne of glass + a court of thorns and roses story) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621000
Comments: 187
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1

The seer woke in the middle of the night, plagued by images of death.

Not the kind sort of death.

A sickness, terrible and painful.

She sat at the edge of the bed, raising her hand to grasp the water glass at the bedside table-

It shattered on the floor in a million pieces, water pooling at her feet.

Water. There had been water, too. A girl with gold hair, tears spilling over her face, sadness and anger washing over her, an ocean of desperate rage as she screamed _Why, Why, Why, Why._

The moment the shards hit the floor, she felt a hand at her shoulder, bringing her back to reality, so slowly.

“Elain,” the voice whispered, calm as midnight.

Elain Archeron sunk into that touch, while a hand brushed her hair that stuck to her forehead.

“What is it?” Azriel asked, watching her carefully.

“I am not sure.” Moving off the bed, she paced around the room, sweat clinging to her brow. “This is so strange.”

“You’re frightened,” he said.

She looked at him, steps faltering. “I think I saw someone’s death, Azriel.”

“Someone close?”

“No.” A shake of her head, her eyes distant. “Someone far away. Someone we don’t know. Someone young. A boy.”

Azriel moved off the bed, his hands soothing her cheeks.

“And a girl,” Elain said. “She was crying.”

Azriel paused for a moment, allowing her to speak. “Tell me how to make it go away.”

She walked into his arms, shaking her head. Black warmth around her, a cocoon of darkness, safe and kind. She melted into his arms, allowed those wings to be an escape. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t take that pain away from you,” he said, meaning every word.

Elain looked up into those dark eyes, and Azriel bowed his head. When their lips touched, it was both a relief and an undoing. Tired as she was, Elain managed to tangle her fingers in his hair, his scent all around her.

Azriel, always in control of himself, broke away from her slowly, taking her hand. “You need sleep, love.”

Too tired to argue, Elain allowed him to put her to bed, to put his arms around her, a wing gently falling over her body. She watched the veins etched in the dark canvas, thinking that they looked like constellations, translucent, almost, in the moonlight.

Eventually, Azriel dozed off to sleep, and Elain found quiet peace in the rhythm of his heart. But even as safe as she felt, as loved as she was, she could not shake the feeling that something was coming.

The feeling that soon enough, their world was going to change forever.

***

Seren Archeron spoke to the stars as if they could respond.

On the rooftop of the House of Wind, the place where he grew up, he felt infinitely closer to the skies. And yet he yearned to be closer still – to raise a finger and see what awaited him there. Not that he wanted to leave his Court. No, never. This was where he belonged, where he was most happy. It was his home, his everything. Seren loved the Night Court more than he loved the air he breathed. This city, these colours, this gentle paradise.

And yet…

And yet.

It was as if something was missing. There was always this sinking sensation at the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he was walking aimlessly, waiting for something that would never arrive.

His life was a series of _somethings_ that he did not have a name for.

Before he could contemplate it further, he noted the change in the air, the scent that hit him before the sound of wings reached his ears. He did not have to turn, for Naza has a particular talent for showing up whenever she was needed.

“Talking to the stars again?” She taunted, propping down next to him, great wings folding behind her.

He grinned at his cousin, before looking up at the stars again. “I thought maybe they could give me a little wisdom.”

“And what did they give you instead?”

“Silence,” Seren murmured. “A lot to think about.”

Naza turned her eyes, the eyes of her mother, to the skies. Seren could see his aunt Nesta’s frown in his cousin’s face. With a dramatic sigh, she stated, “ _Fuck_ the stars.”

“That sounds a little difficult.”

She snorted a laugh, and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her leathers. Without ceremony, she threw it at his face.

“What’s this?”

“See for yourself.”

He read the letter quickly without so much as a raise of his brows. “Uh, look at that, yet another marriage proposal.”

“Sent straight to my father,” Naza sang, a bitter smirk on her full lips. “Because I have no voice of my own.”

Seren shakes his head, ripping the note to pieces. “You must be swimming in them by now. How many?”

“About twelve.”

“Eish.”

“Yeah.”

“Did uncle Cassian bury the male’s face in a pile of shit?” Seren asked, genuinely intrigued. “Last time that was pretty hilarious.”

“Worse – he let _me_ have a go at him.”

Seren’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he looked at her. “Damn, really? Fuck, what did you do?”

“Fought him. Won.”

“Big surprise.”

Naza grins, a little proud. “I needed to show him first-hand the female he wanted _so desperately to own_. His words.”

Seren allows the night wind to carry the pieces of paper away. “Disgusting.”

“And you? Philosophizing again, cousin?”

Seren lays back on the roof, his own wings stretching behind him. “Do you ever have this feeling-“

“No, I don’t feel.”

“Funny.”

“It’s true,” she grins. “But do go on, I’m so looking forward to this little speech of yours.”

“You’re so lucky I love you to death, or I would’ve pushed you off this roof already.”

Naza smiles. “Smart – throw a creature with wings out of a roof.”

He paused, sighing, looking at the skies. Seriousness fell over them both as Naza laid down next to him. He asked her, “Do you ever feel like you’re missing someone you’ve never met?”

Naza didn’t respond for a couple of seconds. “You are in need of a mate.”

Seren looked hopeless, so hopeless it made her sad. “I know she’s near. I can feel it. In my dreams, in my bones. I can even smell her.”

Naza turned on the roof, watching him, her hand propped up underneath her jaw. “How do you know it’s even a _she_?”

Seren shook his head. “Call it instinct. I don’t fucking know, Naza. I don’t know anything anymore.”

She paused once more, letting the words sink it. “When did it start?”

“Months ago.”

“How strong?”

“Very,” he said. “Like… it’s like that feeling in the back of your mind where something is not right, but you can’t for the love of the Mother figure it out. It’s like sensing danger and not knowing where it’s coming from. I have a blind in front of my eyes and I’m walking in the dark without knowing where to turn. I want it to end.”

“Go search for her,” she said simply.

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“And it is. What? You wouldn’t leave permanently. I know you’re attached to Velaris like the rest of us, but if you feel this restless, you will not stop until you find her, or at least until you see for yourself that she is not in danger.” When Seren didn’t respond, Naza sighed to herself, turning back to the stars. “Jeez. I hope that never happens to me. Having a mate seems like too much work.”

The silence sunk into his bones, not doing any favours for his restless heart.

“Do you think-“ He stopped.

“Tell me,” she urged.

“Do you think the reason why I’m like this is because I already lost her, without ever knowing her?”

Naza watched him carefully, the way his midnight eyes sunk. “You think she’s dead?” Naza whispered.

Seren shook his head, and murmured into the night, “Only the stars know.”

But the stars didn’t answer.

***

Rhiannon Crochan had a terrible headache.

She adored her family, but Godess, were they noisy.

Spring began to touch the fields of Terrasen, painting the forests a brighter green, splattering rainbow pastels in the flowers. In the gardens of the Palace of Terrasen, her family gathered around, drinks in hand, music playing, smiles on every mouth.

She saw her mother tending to Abraxos in the far distance, and ached to join her. The Witch Princess was not a people’s person – not like her father, the King of Adarlan, and not like her younger sister Asterin, who was a crowd favourite whenever she went.

Still, seeing her family made her feel nostalgic for the simpler years. She stayed, watching them all laugh together, serene and peaceful. She could only pray every night to the Goddess that it would last for as long as they all lived.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, and Rhia rolled her eyes, her drink almost falling out of her hand.

“Where were you?” Amara said, almost lifting her friend off the ground.

“Let go,” Rhia said, pushing the Princess of Terrasen away with a smirk on her lips. “You stink of Lochan.”

Amara moved to stand in front of her. “Don’t be cross with me. I know I’m late.”

“Yes, you are, and I have no wish to know what you were doing in the time you were absent.” Rhia pointed her friend a finger. “And you better pay me double the last time for covering for you. Your mother’s been around me like a satellite asking where you are.”

Amara smiled apologetically, a devil’s smile, if Rhia ever saw any, and said: “I already had those strawberry pastries made especially for you. 40 in total.”

“Good,” Rhia smirked. “Now, go to your mother before she kills you.”

Amara snorts a laugh, and braces herself to respond, when something behind Rhiannon catches her eye. Amara quickly turns her eyes back to her friends’. “Andrik Lochan is staring at you.”

Rhia is thankful for her long hair, for when she turned and met his eyes, he did not see the warm blue sweeping into her cheeks. “He is not staring at me.”

“He was,” Amara said. “Very pointedly, may I add. There was just a bit of longing into his eyes this time.”

“I don’t know why you’d think that information relevant for me.”

Amara smirked. “The more you hide it, the clearer it becomes, you know.”

“Speak up, Amara.”

“You heard me,” she winked. “I’ll be off now. If you and Andrik Lochan need a room, I have a fair few upstairs, you just need to choose-“

Rhia sets her teeth, a low, threatening growl pushing past her lips. At the sight of her ironteeth, the Princess of Terrasen simply laughs. “Alright, alright, I’m shutting my mouth.”

True enough – when her friend finally left, Rhia found herself searching for him again in the crowd. Instantly, she found him chatting to his sister, the youngest Lochan, and, once more, Rhia had the strange feeling at the pit of her stomach that told her _run._

But run _where_?

It had been a long, long time since Andrik had been that shy little boy, always arranging his clothes, always touching his hair to make sure he never looked silly, always wanting to look his best to impress, always too nervous to actually speak to her, even when she taunted him.

The second-oldest Lochan had grown up to be mesmerizing to look at. Strong jaw, broad shoulders, a smile that could cut you up and stitch you back together again in the same second. He didn’t have his father’s strength, not his brother’s recklessness, no. Andrik Lochan was his own person, and he walked to a rhythm only he could feel. He turned shyness into confidence, without ever turning it into cockiness. He wore it around his grin and eyes and bewitched anyone who ever stood in his way.

It was not fair.

Not fair at all.

So many times she’d denied him, that Rhia had barely noticed when she’d begun to actually crave him, too.

But going back on her word meant a lot of things: it made her feel weak, and it made her look like a liar, and it made her feel… _feel_. Too much too fast. And she didn’t like it.

She didn’t like it at all.

When she stepped away from the party, she thought _He won’t see me leave. He won’t notice. And he won’t care._

And how right she was.

Maybe she expected him to come to her, to touch her hand and tell her to wait. Maybe she was foolish and selfish enough to want him to try just one more time to have her.

Maybe this time she would answer differently.

***

The library of Terrasen was the dustiest of places, and she loved it very much.

Eva Ashryver could not count in her two hands how many times she shifted into the librarian herself, and unlocked the Prohibited Section, stealing all the naughty books and dying with laughter reading every single one of them. She was proud of many things in her life, but never having been caught in those moments was definitely one of them.

She was carrying a generous stack of books to carry up to her rooms, all romance with a little fantasy, because that’s what she was feeling up to at the moment, and failed to see the person she barged into the moment she turned a sharp corner.

Her books almost fell out of her hands and she groaned, an apology falling out of her lips when she stopped.

And scowled.

Ragnar Lochan stood there, absolutely annoyed, absolutely, irritably handsome, staring at her like she was the world’s most absurd inconvenience.

“Get out of my way,” she spat, and mumbled a few, _Always here,_ and _Can’t have this library to myself, like, ever_ as she stepped around him with difficulty.

“I was here before you came,” he said back, the rough, smooth voice, quicksilver, like river water running down between boulders, making her stop in her tracks.

She sucked in a breath.

_Here we go again._

“I have three days. Three days to read all the new books aunt Aelin bought, and I will be damned if you sour my mood this afternoon,” she said to him.

Ragnar Lochan looked at this little creature in front of him with complete disdain. He couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. She was ridiculously small compared to him, a sassy hand at her hip, and a stern finger pointed at him like a cursed wand.

He laughed.

Oh, he loved her seeing red.

Truth be told – he was in a very good mood this afternoon. He’d managed to escape the family gathering, and instead had come to the place he loved most, all without being noticed, all without his mother dragging him out once more by his ears, telling him he had to be social.

Blessed be the Goddess.

But not for long.

He was always in stern competition with Eva Ashryver, it seemed. They’d been fighting for this library ever since they were little, and still hated each other back then. He’d come to enjoy these little back and forth sessions with her, and now that she was in front of him, looking pissed out of her mind, he found the perfect opportunity to let off some steam himself.

“You’re the one that barged into me, sweetheart.”

“I _apologized_. And don’t call me _sweetheart_.”

He placed a hand upon the shelf, and sighed. “Are you quite done, Ashryver? I’m busy finding _knowledge_.”

He gave her book titles a brief glance, and snorted a laugh. “Why, of course.”

“You’re such a pretentious prick. You think by reading philosophy that your true brain cells will automatically multiply? Honey, it doesn’t work like that.”

Something at the back of his mind pricked at the way she said _Honey_ , and it bothered him so, so much, that he vowed he wouldn’t think of it ever again.

He smirked, leaning against the shelf. “Some would point out that you enjoy this too much, Ashryver. Are you just making time? Do you want to spend more time with me, is that it? And the only way you can do it is with meek insults and empty threats?”

She put her books down, and rounded on him, like a leopard watching a prey. “You are the most irritating bastard on this earth, do you know that?”

“That is music to my ears, sweetheart. Enjoy your crappy literature.”

Her fists clenched. “Fuck. You.”

They stared at each other, her jaw clenched, his lips spreading into a wide, taunting grin, before he said: “Your hair is turning blue.”

She looked down, to the blue spreading to the tips of her hair, and realized she lost hold of her powers around him yet again. Eva shook her head, the darkness coming back to her curls. Without another glance, she turned around, grabbed her thirty million books with difficulty, and headed out of the library.

Ragnar’s eyes followed her until she banged the doors shut, his smile long gone.

Then his eyes moved to the book she had unknowingly dropped on the floor. He grabbed it, opening it on the first page. For some reason, he felt as if he was intruding on something, reading a book that she wanted to read. But still, something compelled him to.

He didn’t move from that library the rest of the afternoon, and as he read through the point of view of the brave main character, he couldn’t stop picturing dark strands turning blue.

***

Fenrys Moonbeam didn’t know what else to do.

No matter what Vaughan did, he couldn’t comfort him. And neither of them could comfort their daughter.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he confessed to Vaughan one night, as they lay awake, in each other’s arms. The older male tucked Fenrys against him, closing his eyes.

The pain they both felt for their daughter would not compare to the pain she herself felt at losing the one she loved, they knew. But the ache of wanting to help, but knowing nothing and no one would…

It left them broken. All three of them.

“She will be fine,” Vaughan murmured into Fenrys’ hair.

“It’s been a year,” Fenrys said back. “She feels it like it was yesterday.”

“You know it’s not that easy, Fen.”

Fenrys knew. He knew how painful it was to lose his own brother, let alone…

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“She will heal,” Vaughan said. “She will.

***

Luna liked the nights best.

There was something comforting in the darkness, like her own personal bubble of safety. On this night in particular, despite the ache still present in her heart, she felt calm.

She hadn’t felt calm in a long time, so she took it as a good sign.

She walked barefeet on the grass, like she always did, to the woods. The earth between her toes, the moon against her skin, the night kissing her cheeks. Her fathers had asked to come with her, like they always did. But she always needed these moments alone – she knew they’d understand.

Along the way, she picked up stones.

When she reached him, she placed them neatly around next to all the other ones. Then she sat on the grass, her white dress already stained. She stared at that name scratched on that stone, then looked up at the stars.

“Hi, Leander,” she whispered.

Her heart was a mess, but she knew that he understood her nonetheless. He always had. So, she spoke:

“It’s been easier. I think. Sometimes I forget I’m supposed to feel miserable,” she let out a soft breath that was supposed to be a laugh, but felt nothing like it. A pause. “I know you wouldn’t want me to keep coming here.”

She looked to the stone again, and sighed. “I guess if you had died a good death, I would be more at peace. But that’s what hurts the most, Leander,” she said, a sob parting her lips. “You died in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

The night wind brushed past her, moving her hair off her shoulders. It was cold, surprisingly cold, for a summer’s night.

She sniffed, brushing away her tears. “I think this is the last time I’ll come here. I hope you don’t mind. I need to sleep, too.”

She stopped hoping for answers long ago, but she still looked up to the stars nonetheless. “I hope you’re okay, now,” she said. “I hope you’re happy.”

Luna laid down, closed her eyes. The stone with the name scratched on it stared at her.

_Leander Westfall,_ it read. Twenty-three years old.

He’d been so human, so bright. He’d loved horses. He’d smiled as big as the world when he was happy. And he was always so happy.

_Why. Why. Why. Why. Why._

She’d screamed it that night. She remembered the shattering sound of her own voice, as she tired to move out of her father’s arms.

“ _WHY. WHY HIM. WHY.”_

Even if they could have never had long together, because she would live for centuries, ages, and he would not, even then. Even then she’d wished for longer for him. Twenty-three is barely enough.

Eventually, Luna Moonbeam fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of the boy she loved, and lost.

***

Seren Archeron woke to bright sunlight.

He turned on his bed, the scent of grass and woods enveloping him like a lover’s embrace. He smiled into his pillow, stretching his legs, opening his eyes-

A female’s sleeping face greeted him.

Seren jumped out of his bed so fast he fell to the floor in a pile of limbs and wings. His back hit the wall as she scooted backwards, heart in his hands. The female did not wake. Did not even budge. The only sign that she was alive was her steady breathing.

He got up, hands shaking, and looked, really looked – white dress stained green and brown, long golden hair falling over her shoulders, a sad face – even sleeping.

Why was this female on his bed?

Why was he so compelled to hold her?

He was dreaming. He had to be.

Slowly, she began to open her eyes. Seren took a step back, wings tense.

The female – Fae, indicated by scent and ears, as far as he could tell – looked at him and yawned.

Then widened her eyes, looked at him again and screamed.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Seren said, putting his hands up, backing himself against the wall. “I’m-“

Luna pushed herself off the bed, putting as much space between them as she could. “WHO ARE YOU?!”

This – male. He had wings. Big, enormous wings. And a strange way of speaking, even if it was her tongue. An accent she had never heard before.

“Don’t scream at me, you were in my bed!” He said to her.

“WHY was I in your bed?!”

“How am I supposed to know?!”

“IT’S YOUR BED!”

They both stopped, breathing hard, her feeling like an animal in a cage, him feeling like he might die if she shouts at him again.

Seren paused, swallowed, and murmured, “Look, I am aware you have no reason to believe me, but I went to sleep last night without you there, and I wake up and there’s you, sleeping right next to me.”

“I-“

Luna stopped herself.

Because she caught sight of the world behind him, through an open window, with curtains swaying. A city. And far away – the sea. No woods, not any she could see, at least from here. Even the smell – the smell was not like anything she’d ever caught, not like her home, not like the smell of grass and woods but-

Citrus.

“Where am I?” She whispered.

Seren watched her carefully. “Velaris. You’re in the Night Court.”

“Night Court?” She blurted. “What the _hell_ is that?”

Two things she realized right then and there:

One. She had accidentally teleported herself into a stranger’s bed, in her sleep.

Two. She was not home.

Hell.

She was most likely not even in her own damn world.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	2. Chapter 2

## BEFORE…

_She caught sight of the world behind him, through an open window, with curtains swaying. A city. And far away – the sea. No woods, not any she could see, at least from here. Even the smell – the smell was not like anything she’d ever caught, not like her home, not like the smell of grass and woods but-_

_Citrus._

_“Where am I?” She whispered._

_Seren watched her carefully. “Velaris. You’re in the Night Court.”_

_“Night Court?” She blurted. “What the hell is that?”_

_Two things she realized right then and there:_

_One. She had accidentally teleported herself into a stranger’s bed, in her sleep._

_Two. She was not home._

_Hell._

_She was most likely not even in her own damn world._

## NOW…

“Darling.”

There were two things that made Ferran Lochan believe in miracles: the beautiful sunrise over the north mountains of Orynth, and his wife’s favourite endearment for him, being whispered in his ear.

Ferran smiled, bending his head down to look at his love. The Princess of Terrasen wore a dress of forest green, bringing out the colour in her eyes, and a smile that held all the secrets of the universe, including his own.

She said to him, “You’re distracted. And worried.”

He took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Family gatherings had always been happy occasions. Now that they were all grown, gathered in the Palace of Orynth, Ferran could see that many things had changed. One, he was married to the love of his life. Two, his siblings were all being absolutely chaotic, in a way they’d never been before, and he felt like a hawk, trying to protect each and every single one of them. But preventing a Lochan from wreaking havoc would be the same as trying to keep the sun from shining.

Absolutely fucking impossible.

He said, “Do you ever miss the old times, when we were children and everything was simple and none of us were fighting?”

Amara quirked her head to the side. “You’re talking about Eva and Ragnar?”

“It seems like there’s only complications everywhere,” Ferran said. “Eva and Ragnar are at it again. Thank the Goddess the screaming stopped.”

“They did break two glasses.”

Ferran sighed heavily. “Let’s pray that’s all they’re going to do tonight.”

Amara found herself smiling slightly. “You know, you don’t have to watch them so much anymore. Yes, your siblings are going to have their own complicated lives, and dramas, but you have your own life now. It’s good to worry, my love, but it’s not good to let worry take over your mind. Look at them again,” Amara wrapped her arms around him from his side, and gestured with her chin, “Eldon and Howlan are putting on a show, as always, and Andrea is… where is Andrea?”

Ferran gave his wife a sideways glance. “Where do you think?”

“Somewhere off with Asterin,” Amara concluded, chuckling softly to herself. “Relax, my love. Have a drink. If they need you, they will call you.”

“I can’t help it, being protective of them.”

Amara nodded, bringing him down for a soft kiss. “This is what you’ve always been: the protector. The shelter. The rock. But trust your siblings to make their own choices. Your parents allowed you to make your own, and see where that got you.” She grinned then, eyes sparkling.

Ferran raised Amara’s chin. “Ah, but not without our own complications.”

“What is life but a sea of complications? With each wave, it brings new challenges. But we keep swimming.” Amara got on her tiptoes, and kissed her husband gently, before saying, “Don’t worry, my love. They’ll be fine.”

As she let go and graciously walked off, Ferran stared after her, sighing softly. The oldest of six children, Ferran had always taken on the role of sheltering his siblings from life’s great disappointments. Sometimes it killed him that he couldn’t save them from themselves. But Amara was right. He had to let them be.

What did his mother always say?

_We grow from our errors._

Let them make their mistakes and learn from them.

Andrik, second-born, stood in the middle of the room, trying to avoid Rhiannon at all costs. But Ferran knew that, at the end of the night, Andrik would try his luck, just to get his heart broken again. That was Andrik’s thing. Masochism. Obviously.

Ferran searched the crowd. There was no surprise in finding his brother Ragnar leaning against the far wall, avoiding all kind of social interactions. He was glaring daggers at nothing, preventing anyone from approaching.

Eva Ashryver, Princess of Terrasen and Lady of Caraverre stood by Ferran, following his gaze.

Ferran, in turn, was surprised to see her so calm after her screaming match with Ragnar. He’d never understand those two. Ferran had long stopped trying.

“Your brother has a thing for making me angry,” Eva muttered to Ferran.

“Don’t involve me,” Ferran pleaded.

“You know I’m right, you’ve lived with him for decades,” Eva drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. Under her breath, she said, “Infuriating.”

“What has he done now?” Ferran sighed.

“Stole one of my books,” Eva said. “I know he did it. I dropped it, and he didn’t give it back.” The Princess narrowed her eyes as she stared at Ragnar from afar, and then whispered, “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

Ferran widened his eyes. “Evie, wait. You both need—”

But she was already gone.

His sister-in-law took Eva’s place, smiling at Ferran in sympathy. Laelia Galathynius had her mother’s look but her father’s gentle presence. She softly said to him, “Tough night, brother?”

“Lochans being Lochans,” Ferran said to her.

Laelia, unlike her older sister, was a calm river. While Amara was pouring rain, Laelia was a summer drizzle. “Big families always have their problems. Worry not. I gather in the morning it will all go away.”

“If only,” Ferran breathed a laugh. And then he really looked at her. “Laelia, are you alright? You look pale.”

Laelia frowned slightly. “You know, I’ve been having the strangest feeling ever since I woke up. I’ve dreamt of a girl—”

In that moment, the doors of the ballroom opened, and in a flash of golden hair, Fenrys appeared, his face as pale as Laelia’s. More.

Laelia and Ferran looked at each other, and then walked towards the male, to where Amara and the Queen of Terrasen already stood with the Prince.

“Mother?” Laelia said, at seeing their faces.

“She’s gone,” Fenrys murmured, tears in his eyes, as Aelin wrapped her arms around him. “My Luna is gone. We can’t find her.”

Ferran and Rowan looked at each other. The Prince didn’t have to tell him what he was thinking, for before anyone could move, Ferran walked over to Andrik, touching his back.

“Luna is in trouble.”

The two of them gathered the rest of the brothers, briefly explaining to them what Fenrys had told them. Lorcan and Elide were already there with the Queen, looking at each other in fear.

“Father,” Ferran said to Lorcan. “We’re ready to look for her.”

“Where’s your sister?” Elide asked in worry.

“With Asterin, Elide.” It was Amara who responded. “She’s safe. I already sent word to the Guard. The Palace is secure.”

“Are you sure someone took her?” Aelin whispered to Fenrys.

“Who would do such a thing?” Laelia said under her breath.

Fenrys ran a hand through his hair and said, voice shaky, “Vaughan is still out there trying to find a scent. But hers just ends there, in Leander’s rock. It’s like she vanished.”

“Luna wouldn’t teleport far without telling you,” Ragnar said, his tone urgent. He looked around those gathered. “We should leave now. Father?”

“Yes, I’ll come with,” Lorcan said quickly. “Elide—”

“Your daughter is safe,” Elide said softly to him. “Go.”

Amongst all that chaos, Amara met Ferran’s eyes.

It seemed like a wave had quickly turned into a tsunami.

***

The male had wings.

Enormous, midnight-coloured, _taloned_ wings.

Luna had been _sleeping_ in his bed. But how had she gotten there? It was physically impossible for someone with her kind of powers to teleport somewhere they could not envision. If her mind could not see a clear image, her body would not budge.

So how did she manage to teleport herself to this strange place, into the bed of a winged stranger who spoke with too-heavy consonants?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly, putting himself in the corner of his chambers. 

Somehow, even petrified as she was, Luna believed him. If this male wanted to hurt her, he already would have. She knew that all her training with her father, Rowan, Aelin and Manon, would not be enough to beat him. He was corded muscle all over, even his wings, with their inky sheerness, seemed to be strong enough to fling her into the wall and do some real damage. Luna would not wish to ever touch those talons and see for herself if they were as sharp as they seemed.

“You said I was in Velaris,” she shakily said, looking around, her body still tense. “Where exactly in Erilea is that?”

The male’s brows furrowed. He was confused. Even slightly appalled. Luna had the feeling that despite his obvious strength and bulky presence, this male was as afraid of her as she was of him.

That failed to make her feel any better.

“Erilea?” The male asked, the word foreign in his mouth.

They spoke the same tongue, but his sounds were off. If she lost focus for one second, it almost sounded like a completely different language. 

His answer confirmed what she had feared before - she was not in Erilea. 

She was not in her own world.

Luna had heard her aunt Aelin’s stories of the Great War. She knew there were worlds beyond her imagination, some like her own, and some very, very different. This world that smelled of citrus and night air appeared to be oddly familiar to her, though Luna was certain she had never been there before.

She’d teleported in her sleep before; it happened at times, without her being fully able to control it. One night, when she was very, very small, Luna had refused to sleep in her own bedroom – she’d been an imaginative child, frightened of the things she could not see – and had begged to sleep in her fathers’ bed. But they had been very clear that she had nothing to be scared of, for the night held nothing but beautiful, happy dreams, and certainly not monsters. Hours after they’d put her to bed, and Luna had managed to fall asleep, she woke in their arms, in their bed, only a few moments later.

But her unconsciousness had never led her so far.

How far from home was she?

Luna realized she’d been silent for a while, trying to piece together all that she had learned. She knew that she had to be rational, but she was in a stranger’s house, in the presence of a male that was three times her size, in a world she did not know, in a city with an even stranger name. Rationality was way out of her reach.

“I’m Seren.”

They’d put themselves as far away from each other as possible: Luna near his nightstand, where three books were messily stacked, and the male on the opposite side, near the balcony doors.

Luna shifted her weight from one foot to the other several times. “I’m not sure I want to tell you my name.”

“That’s fair,” he said, his voice still soft. Still slightly shaken. “If I woke in a stranger’s home, I wouldn’t want to tell them my name either.”

Luna frowned slightly. “I fell asleep in the woods. Next thing I knew, I was here, lying in your bed.”

Seren paused, and then his eyes lowered to her white shift. It was not exactly translucent, but it was her sleep wear, so Luna crossed her arms over her chest, though she knew he was simply noticing the grass stains on it.

“Why were you in the woods?” He asked, his voice slightly lilted, his sounds spread out, like the melodic Eyllwe pronunciation.

Luna thought of the stone near the edge of the Terrasen woods. The stone she’d put there to represent Leander. Her heart clenched in her chest, and her breath was cut short. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – explain it to this stranger, the pain of losing the love of her life.

So she straightened, and simply said, “I like midnight walks.”

He didn’t seem to believe her, but Luna didn’t care. He was nothing to her, after all, what did she care if he thought her a mad girl?

“So is it night time, too, where you’re from?”

“I guess so.”

Seren didn’t look afraid anymore – he looked curious. And that unsettled her.

But he wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t even approach her.

“Are you a Prince?” She blurted out.

The male raised his brows and gave a little laugh. He didn’t move, probably so he wouldn’t scare her, which Luna thought was pretty decent of him. “No, not at all.”

Luna looked around the room. While it was not as fancy as the Palace of Orynth, it was a room worthy of a Duke or a Lord, at least, a Prince at most. Everything was where it was supposed to be, perfectly clean, almost not lived-in. Dark, beautiful woods she had never seen, high, carved ceilings with winged figures, and floor-to-ceiling windows curtained by dark fabrics. Everything was simple, yet elegant. Comforting. “Could have fooled me.”

“Erilea,” Seren said, in his strange, beautiful accent. “That’s where you’re from?”

Luna walked around the room, slowly, almost on her tiptoes, testing the waters. She needed to buy time – her body ached, and her mind weighed more than three suns, which meant that she would not be able to go back for another few hours. If she teleported this far, _into a whole other rutting world_ , there was no wonder why she was so exhausted.

“Terrasen,” Luna said. “My land is called Terrasen.”

“Terra-sen,” Seren repeated, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.

Closer now, she could see his eyes. Baby blue, the colour of clear skies. It was stark against the dark, inky hair, so black it almost looked deep blue, or purple, depending where the candlelight touched. Freckles dotted tanned skin, spreading over high cheekbones and a sharp, handsome jaw.

He stood very still, allowing her to examine him – and examining her in return. Luna’s fear was wearing off. She was not naïve enough to totally relax, but the kindness in this male’s eyes calmed her. Somehow, she trusted him.

She wanted him to trust her, too.

“I’m sorry for bursting into your room,” she said at last, wrapping her arms around herself. “I truly don’t know how I got here, and-“

“Please don’t apologize,” Seren said, slowly taking a step forward.

Luna refrained from taking a step back, even if the force of his presence seemed to slap her in the face. Like a magnetic field around him, everytime he moved, Luna felt compelled to do the same.

She watched as Seren folded his wings behind his back and then-

They simply disappeared.

Luna gaped.

Seren gave her a little smile, slightly shy. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. The wings can be… intimidating.”

“You’re a shifter?” Luna asked. “I have a shifter in my family.”

“Shifter?”

“You know, can turn into anything at will? A bird, a cat, a whole other person?” Luna raised a brow. “You don’t have shifters here? Only Fae?”

“Not that I know of,” he said. “I’m Illyrian.”

“Illyrian,” Luna repeated thoughtfully. Where had she learned that word? How did it seem familiar and yet like a whole new word at the same time? “Do all Illyrians have wings?”

“Yes,” Seren nodded. “Does all of your family… winnow?”

“Winnow?” Luna frowned. “What’s that?”

That same hesitant, shy smile appeared on his face. A second later, Seren disappeared. Just – _vanished_ -

Only to appear a few steps behind her, a mist of shadows fading around him. “This,” he said.

Luna staggered back in surprise, her eyes wide. “You can teleport, too?!”

Seren’s smile spread. He seemed glad that he hadn’t scared her. “Winnowing is slightly different – I’m afraid we are only able to winnow short distances and haven’t been lucky enough to master the art of teleportation.” He gestured towards her.

Luna’s eyes swept up and down his body once. “And the wings?”

“A simple glamour,” Seren explained, unbothered by her stare.

Luna blinked. “Where… where do they go?” She was afraid of coming across rude or indelicate, asking so many questions, but Seren seemed all too willing to answer, and besides, it was the only thing distracting her from thinking too hard about her predicament.

Honestly, Luna felt as if she was three seconds from having a meltdown. And that wouldn’t do.

“Imagine there’s an invisible pocket between us. A little gap in the space of our reality.”

Luna let out a soft breath. “Must be a big pocket.”

Seren laughed then.

And Luna-

She froze.

The moment that sound came out of his mouth, Luna felt something she had never felt before: like a punch to the gut and a feather brushing her cheek, both at the same time. It left her dizzy, her skin prickling. It was not unlike fear, and yet, it was a feeling that was very far from it. Like climbing to the highest point of a tree only to realize you have gone too far, too high, and cannot get down.

Like flinging yourself off a mountain to try to fly and suddenly remembering you don’t have any wings, but you’re already close to hitting the ground. It’s like that one second before you destroy yourself, where you feel like you are capable of anything, even of touching the clouds.

Her throat went dry.

Seren’s eyes crinkled as he smiled then, unaware of her thoughts. “Yes, you’re right. If only I could see it.”

“Have you ever lost anything in that pocket?” She asked, trying to make a light joke, trying to forget how his laughter made her forget, for a few seconds, that she was not home.

“Several coats, actually.”

“That sounds tough.”

“Hum,” Seren said. “They _were_ pretty good coats.”

There was a pause between them, a pause that might have been awkward between two strangers, but it wasn’t, not with them both. Luna guessed that Seren was the type of male to put everyone at ease – the male that everyone felt safe around, not because of his size or his considerable strength, but because he had one of those faces. Because he had eyes that made you believe you’d always be safe with him.

That made him terrifying.

Then why had her fear left her so quickly?

At last, she decided to speak. “Do you mind if I stay a little while longer? I’m sorry to be a bother, but my body needs to rest so I can go back, and I really don’t want to have my leg chopped of-“

“Your leg _chopped off_?”

Luna cringed slightly. “My father told me that if I try to teleport when I’m too tired, I’ll leave a leg or an arm or even my head behind. Like, space will literally chop parts of my body off, or something.” She paused, and at Seren’s shocked expression, she continued, “Now that I say that out loud, I think that was my dad trying to stop me from sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

Seren gave her a strange smile, something between awe and confusion, and then he said to her, “Stay as long as you like, stranger.”

Luna managed to smile back, though it was crooked and weird, and she knew her hair was a mess, and her shift was dirty, and he was seeing her more vulnerable than she would have liked anyone to see her.

More vulnerable than someone had seen her in a long time.

She took in the room once again, the plush rug beneath her bare feet, the maps neatly stashed in the polished, dust-free shelf in the corner. Her gaze finally stopped on his balcony glass doors, where she could see hints of bright lights against a canvas of dark blue.

“Do you want to see it?” Seren asked, watching her. “The view?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Seren said, and gestured with his head for her to follow.

She noticed that he tried very hard not to step too close to her, or look at her for too long. Either he knew that females didn’t usually like that, and felt highly threatened by it, or he’d actually been taught manners.

Luna wondered at that, as he opened the balcony doors. She wondered who, exactly, he was. Who had raised him to be this careful with someone he didn’t know. There were a number of questions plaguing her mind, but as her and Seren stepped into the night air, each and every single one of them evaporated as if she’d never thought to ask them.

And then there was only-

_Velaris_.

They were on a tall, private house, three stories high and overlooking a river that sparkled, as if a million little sapphires rested at the bottom, leading to a vast, unending sea. Apartments stood next to Seren’s, just as colourful, just as pretty, reminding her of Varese, Wendlyn’s buzzing capital. Luna could see ships as far as her eyes allowed her to, some in movement, some harboured, their sails blowing in the warm, midnight breeze.

Colours she didn’t even have a name for exploded in her vision as she turned her head. The city appeared to be embraced in twinkling lights, so bright that they bashed away the darkness of night.

Luna let out a long breath, her eyes dry. She hadn’t been blinking for a while, she realized. She knew that Seren was watching, waiting for her reaction, but she couldn’t give him anything else except silent awe.

It was mesmerizing.

Everything about it was-

Just mesmerizing.

Luna couldn’t drink it all in quick enough. All the smells, the lights, even the wind felt different here. Sweeter.

Luna placed her elbows on the balcony railing, shaking her head to herself. No, this was not like any other place she’d visited. The only place that could compare to the beauty of Velaris was perhaps the deep green woods of Terrasen, Kingsflame spreading all across the fields, or perhaps the warm plains of beautiful Eyllwe. But this-

This was a place of storybooks.

Night was alive here. People still walked the streets, groups gathered near the river, drinks in hand, laughter in the air. Happiness. Happiness and light.

At last, when she managed to find her voice, Luna said to Seren, without turning her eyes away from the city, “It’s like this city was bathed in the light of stars.”

“We call it the City of Starlight for that very reason,” Seren said, and Luna could hear the smile in his voice.

She tore her eyes away from the city for just a moment. When she met his eyes, she saw stars reflected in the blue. She saw that same light, that same happiness. “Seren,” she said softly, holding out her hand, “I’m Luna.”

***

Wendlyn had been struck with storms once again.

Oren had had his fair share of rain, thank you very much. And so had his poor sisters. In truth, Oren could not blame the little ones for being so frightened of the thunder – it was the worse they’d had that summer.

His father’s farm had been built to withstand this weather, but Oren worried for the rest of the village. He’d spent his day helping his neighbours gather wood for fires and berries to store. But what about those who were alone, and didn’t have a family? Those who had no one else to turn to, when thunder struck, and the world seemed about to end?

Oren couldn’t help but think that that could have been his fate. Or worse. After all, his birthmother had thrown him away like garbage the moment he took his first breath. If his parents hadn’t found him and brought him into their already large family, what would have happened to him?

The young male sighed, and shut the stables door, saying one last _goodnight_ to the horses. The wind picked up, ruffling the white curls of his hair.

Storms would always come and go. He was just grateful he didn’t have to face them alone.

His sisters were already in bed when he went back inside. Oren kissed his mother’s cheek, patted his father’s back, and flipped his older brother off when he passed his room, receiving another crude gesture in return. Oren smiled to himself, his brother’s laughter following him all the way to the twins’ room.

“OREN!” Mirela said, pushing her dark hair away from her face. “WE’VE BEEN WAITING!”

Oren chuckled, watching them both jump on their beds. “Now, do you want a story or not?”

The girls giggled, and Didiane joined her sister in sitting down, both of them straightening, as if they had always been two well-behaved angels. Oren gave them a look that told them he was very much aware that it was the complete opposite where they were concerned.

“Oh, Oren, tell us about Prince Dorian again,” Didiane pleaded, getting into bed. “He is ever so charming.”

“No!” Mirela protested. “Tell us about Queen Aelin’s bravery. How she defeated that other heartless Dark Queen with her Mighty Sword!” She struck with her arm, as if handling her own sword.

“Tell us about Lady Elide’s courage as she rode through a battlefield to find and rescue her love…” Didiane sighed dreamily.

“All you want to hear about is love,” Mirela said in disgust.

“Love is life, Mirela,” Didiane said, very seriously. “It doesn’t always have to be about bloodshed and swords-“

“Now, now, settle down,” Oren said with a laugh. “What if I tell you about Prince Rowan and his journey to return the Queen, so she could take her rightful throne?”

The girls listened on, completely mesmerized.

“It all started with a bond of friendship and love-”

“Does it have swords?” Mirela interrupted.

“A lot of swords,” nodded Oren.

“Oh, the love story of Prince Rowan and Queen Aelin,” Didiane squealed. “Tell us, Oren, please!”

“Alright, alright,” Oren said, lowering his tone. “So, when Queen Aelin was captured, her friends-“

“Lady Lysandra of Caraverre, who shifted into a huge leopard!” Said Mirela, growling like an animal.

Didiane giggled. “Oh, oh! And Manon, the Witch Queen!”

“That’s right. Lady Lysandra was there, and Queen Manon, too.”

“Lady Elide is my favourite hero,” Didiane swooned.

“Aelin Galathynius sacrificed a lot to save her people and her friends,” Oren went on. “Now, it was time for her Prince to save her. So her friends ventured into dangerous lands, fooling fools and battling their foes, just so they could get back their Queen, and help her save their world, their kingdom…”

Oren had barely gotten into the story when his sisters fell asleep against each other. He gently picked up Mirela, and placed her on her own bed, pulling the covers over her, tucking her in.

“Oren?” Mirela murmured sleepily.

“Yes?”

“I forgot Lilly in the stables,” she whispered. “She will be afraid of the storm.”

Lilly – Mirella’s doll, which their mother had sewed especially for her.

“I’ll get it for you,” Oren whispered back. “Get to sleep, alright?”

The wind had gotten worse, much, much worse.

Oren looked up into the skies, pine-green eyes following the raging clouds. He smelled around for the toy, searching in the darkness.

But something felt odd.

Not the weather, but something else.

Even this far from the stables, Oren could feel the nervousness of the horses, feel a strange tension in the air. He was no fool. Swiftly, Oren moved away from the wind, careful to hide his scent. He waited behind an oak tree, smelling the air.

Fae.

There was another fae there, somewhere. No. Two of them.

Oren clenched his fists, furrowing his brow. Through the howling wind, he heard whispers belonging to two males.

Two males who clearly believed they were hidden. Two males who clearly believed the wind would hide their voices. Oren could tell they were hiding near the stables, at the edge of Oren’s father’s property, where the trees were thickest, where they had less changes of being spotted.

They seemed to be scheming.

Oren listened on:

“… and then Orynth, and soon they will rule us all.”

“… forever… it has to change.”

Oren picked up the words, _Bastard Queen._

His heart drummed in his chest. Oren knew he was safe there, hidden by the oak tree. He was too far away for the males to sense him, especially with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, and yet, the nonsensical words made his stomach turn.

“… shifters, and _unnaturals_. Those half-bred children will rule us.”

“We cannot allow that.”

“Are you sure they are ready to strike at our command? … what about… into the gates?”

“They’re planning their moves… and then… you have to trust them.”

Broken pieces that didn’t make any sense.

_Half-bred children._

“Start with the shifter,” one of the males said. “She was gifted the title of Princess at birth, too.”

A pause, as the wind shifted, making the trees’ branches snap and strike against each other. Oren struggled to hear.

“ _Unnaturals_ ,” the other male spat.

Unnaturals?

Oren shook his head, wondering if he should leave and get his father. But something told him to stop and listen. He could not see the males, and if he made his presence known, Oren knew he’d have to either kill them, or they’d kill him.

He just wanted them far away from his family.

But – _Start with the shifter. Princess._

Princess Eva, the shifter?

“… soon, then.”

“Kill a rose not by its roots, but by ripping its stems.”

Oren heard nothing else.

He was frozen into place, only realizing the males had left. They’d hidden themselves to plan a murder.

And Oren had listened to it.

They were going to kill one of the Princesses.

And probably kill the other heirs of Terrasen, too. Prince Rowan’s family. Their Queen’s

The wind whistled, urging him to move. But what could he do? Writing to King Glaston himself would not do, he might not believe a nobody’s word, he might not warn the others in time.

No, Oren had to meet Prince Rowan in person, and try to at least get an audience. He’d have to tell him what he’d heard, warn them all-

Oren would have to get to Terrasen, and fast, or-

Or lives would be lost.


	3. Chapter 3

“Luna,” Seren repeated, her name a breath of a whisper on his lips. “Hello, Luna.”

Slowly, he took her hand.

He wasn’t prepared.

He wasn’t prepared at all for the way her warmth seeped into him, like someone had lit a torch inside his veins, the fire quickly spreading until it burned wildly in his heart.

Seren thought he was dying for a second.

He managed to not pull his hand away, however. Somehow, he managed to smile, and look normal, managed to gather whatever bits of sanity he had left while he was quickly but surely crumbling on the inside. As Luna pulled her hand away gently, as she turned her eyes to the city, that feeling refused to leave him – his heart slowed, and yet that burning ache settled within his chest, dormant, until the next time she touched him or looked at him.

Seren’s throat was dry. He was stunned into silence, reminded of the other night, sitting with his cousin on the roof, asking her, _Do you ever feel like you’re missing someone you’ve never met?_

Panic was a crescendo, rising and rising inside him, until Seren could barely breathe.

“Are you alright?”

She was talking to him.

_Speak_.

_Speak, Seren, **speak**._

He stared at her. Then, slowly, he took a breath, and said, “Would you like some tea?”

Luna blinked at him, her dark brown eyes soft, illuminated by stars and city lights.

_Those are eyes I could love_ , some distant voice inside his mind murmured. _Those are cheeks I could kiss; lips I could taste._

“I would like tea, yes,” Luna said, apparently oblivious to everything he was feeling, to every thought crossing his mind. “Thank you.”

Seren nodded once, and then he was out of her sight before she could smell his fear.

He shut the door to his chambers and stumbled down the hallway, down the stairs, trying to get some air into his lungs and failing.

_I know she’s near. I can feel it. In my dreams, in my bones. I can even smell her_ – that’s what he’d said to Naza, that night on the roof.

It hits him then, a stray thought that suddenly weighs in his mind, bricks falling all over him. It hits him like a punch to the face.

Seren placed his hands on the kitchen counter, closed his eyes, and breathed.

_One, two, three, four-_

It was impossible.

He’d known her for less than an hour.

_Five, six, seven, eight-_

She’d somehow teleported herself here, to Velaris – no, to _him_ – without knowing what she was doing. As if the universe itself wanted them to meet. As if he’d always been on the wrong side of the two plates, tipping too far, and she was the one to even the scales.

_Nine, ten, eleven, twelve-_

Twelve little warning bells in his mind, twelve times he said the word softly to himself.

“Oh,” Seren breathed, lowering his head into his hands. “ _Oh_.”

It was no coincidence that Luna had been brought here.

There was no such thing as a coincidence where the stars were concerned.

And Luna didn’t know.

She didn’t know the reason why she was here, why she’d ended up right next to him, out of all the places her unconscious could have chosen. She didn’t know – and Seren _couldn’t_ tell her.

His body settled at last, and Seren reminded himself to move. He got water boiling, he prepared leaves. He didn’t know if she liked her tea sweetened. He didn’t know anything about her.

He sat there, watching the fire, a hand over his heart.

This had to be some sort of joke.

The stars couldn’t hate him this much.

He wasn’t sure what his next move would be. This was never something he’d planned for himself, not something that happened to everyone – and Seren had lived his life being certain that it would never happen to him.

Yet there he was.

Trying to settle the ache in his heart.

Luna would be wondering where he was, so he had to swallow it all down, put a smile on his face, and ignore whatever it was that was stabbing at his chest.

Once in his balcony, Seren attempted to hide the trembling of his hand when he passed the steaming mug over to her. Three feet between them. Seren wished he could stop looking at her, but as she took her first sip, she smiled.

He swallowed hard.

_Fuck_.

“You didn’t sweeten it,” she grinned.

A pause.

“How did you know?” She narrowed her eyes, half-playfully, half-curiously, whilst Seren held his own cup up.

“A lucky guess,” he said, surprised with the calmness with which he was able to speak. “I don’t sweeten mine, either.”

Luna watched the city beyond, sighing softly to herself. Seren couldn’t help but notice the sadness that flashed in her eyes, for that one second, and he couldn’t help but point it out either.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, and immediately regretted it.

Luna lowered her eyes to her tea, and simply shook her head. She wouldn’t talk about it, and Seren didn’t push her to. They were strangers, after all, no matter what his body told him.

When Seren thought Luna would say nothing else, she looked up to the lights and explained: “This place is magic come to life, like nothing I have ever seen.” Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, “I knew someone who would have liked to see it.”

That cut him in half, shattered him to pieces.

As if he could feel it, in the way Luna said _I knew someone_ , the pain that those words left behind, simmering, never to be atoned for.

The only thing he could say was, “I’m so sorry.”

Luna gazed up at him. “Have you ever lost someone you loved?”

Seren turned to her, and shook his head. “I can’t say I have.”

Luna beheld him for a few moments, before turning her eyes to the Sidra. “I hope you never do,” she whispered.

That’s all she would tell him, Seren knew. And it was none of his business to ask, to bring out that pain in her. So, instead, he pointed to the quarter beyond the Sidra, to the luminous street filled with endless colours.

He told her, “That’s my mother’s favourite place. We call it The Rainbow.”

“The Rainbow?”

“Look,” he said.

Luna narrowed her eyes, and Seren saw her take in the beauty of it all – the pastel stores stacked one next to the other, following a path of cobbled sidewalks that almost seemed to shimmer, as if the earth itself underneath those stones produced a glow.

“The colours,” she noted, a thoughtful hint to her voice. “It’s like a kaleidoscope.”

“The Rainbow is the artists’ quarter. It’s the centre of our city and the most beloved place in all of Velaris.”

“Are you an artist, Seren?”

Seren shifted slightly at the way she said his name, in that accent of hers. He tried to hide it with a brief cough, however, and gave his answer quickly, “No, unfortunately not. My mother is, though. She’s brilliant.”

“My cousin Eva is a painter,” Luna was saying. “Well, she’s not really my cousin by blood, you know, but we are all a huge family. Anyway, when I was little, she spent a whole week painting my portrait because I couldn’t sit still. She still did it, though. She was so patient with me, they all were.”

There was a pause then, like the mention of her cousin reminded Luna that she wasn’t home.

“I should go,” Luna murmured, looking down at her cup.

“Are you sure you’re able to?” Seren hated himself for wishing to stall her, to keep her here with him longer. He hated the desperation that overcame him then, as he realized she was leaving. He hated, most of all, that he not only wanted, but _needed_ , to know more than whether or not Luna sweetened her tea.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, and with a smile of thanks, Luna gave him her cup back. “I’m sorry again, I still have no explanation for what happened to me. But you’ve been a wonderful host.”

He smiled, not sure of what to say. He finally settled for, “The stars look brighter tonight, now that I’ve met you.”

Luna parted her mouth, and then her smile grew, her cheeks rosy, hidden by her golden hair. That smile itself would wreck him for days to come, he didn’t doubt it.

“Thank you for the company,” Seren murmured.

Luna nodded, and then took a breath. “Well, then.”

“How do you do it?” Seren couldn’t help but ask. _Let her go. **Let her go.**_ “Teleporting?”

“I usually just close my eyes and picture wherever I want to go,” Luna explained. “And then, it’s like I’m being sucked through a black hole. There’s a little nausea, too, but you get used to it.”

“Be safe,” he said.

“Thank you,” Luna said. She looked at him again, as if she wanted to say something else. Instead, she shook her head, and breathed a laugh. “It feels strange to leave.” 

“Will I see you again?”

_Fuck_.

But the words had already fallen from his mouth. There was nothing he could do to take them back. Though Luna blinked twice, slightly surprised, she smiled at him, though a little sadly. “I am not sure if I can return. I only know this room and part of this city. I normally need to know a geographical point.”

_Give her a map._

_Give it to her._

But Seren remembered the joy in her face as she spoke of her cousin, the sadness that crossed those eyes as she asked him, _Have you ever lost someone you loved?_

And Seren couldn’t bring himself to ask her to come back.

Luna didn’t belong here.

And they’d only just met. The last thing he wished to do was for her to leave frightened of him.

_Let her go._

Even if the words were bursting out of his mouth, Seren still nodded, and said, “Goodbye then, stranger.”

He gave her a smile, a little crooked, but Seren was afraid it wouldn’t reach his eyes.

“Goodbye, Seren,” Luna whispered back.

She closed her eyes. One second she was there, and then, there were only stars. Gone into thin air. Like she’d never been there at all.

Another vacant dream in a city of starlight.

But her scent still lingered, something he couldn’t quite place. Like sweet things. Cotton. Grass. Woods.

_Luna_.

He stared at the place she’d been standing only seconds ago, a hollowness, vast, unending, taking place inside him.

“You’re my mate,” Seren said, but it was too late, the dream had already vanished.

***

“Are you certain?”

Seren raised his head from his hands to stare at his younger brother. Aidan Archeron almost flinched at the look his brother gave him, his hand gently patting his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy.

“Alright, I see, you’re sure, you’re sure,” Aidan murmured. “That’s… I’m so sorry, brother.”

After Luna had left, Seren could only turn to one person. Not his cousin, or his parents, who were all busy up in the camps, but his brother. For the better part of half an hour after listening to Seren recall what had happened, Aidan had been dead silent, staring at the wall in shock, until he remembered his brother, clutching his own chest, sobbing and sitting against the wall like a child that had lost his way.

“Fuck,” Aidan muttered. “Fuck, shit. What the fuck.”

“Language,” Seren snarled between sobs.

“Never mind that,” Aidan said, sitting with Seren, his brows furrowed. Unlike his brother, Aidan had the soft, pretty features of their mother. Features that now were contorted in something close to anger. “How does that happen to _you_?” Aidan looked up at the ceiling, as if he could capture the stars in his hands and crush them. “What the fuck?!” He called out to them.

“I couldn’t tell her,” Seren whispered, tears drying on his cheeks. “I don’t even know if she would understand. And I don’t know her. I don’t fucking know her _. I’ll never see her again_.”

“You’re panicking a bit right now,” Aidan said softly. “I’m sure there’s a way-“

“How?!”

But Aidan had no answer. Because there was none. Luna was gone, and that was that. She was gone, and she would never know that she’d found her mate in a whole different world.

And then-

And then Aidan frowned. “Hold on. Do you know the gate that leads to the human world, in Ramiel mountain?”

“The Gates theory is bullshit, Aidan, you know that. No other gates have been found. For all we know, the passage to the human world could just be-“

“But what if it’s _not_?” Aidan pointed out. “What if it’s not the only Gate?”

Seren halted. “You have your- yes, you have your hand on your chin, you really are onto something.” He wiped at his cheeks and shook his head. “ _If_ there are more gates to other worlds, how do you think I’ll find the right one? And why would I? I don’t _know_ her, Aidan-“

His brother held out a finger. “Shush with your grumbling, I’m trying to think. Where did Luna say she was from again?”

“Terrasen.” 

“No, the other one.”

“Ah,” said Seren. “Fuck. E…something. It sounded like Illyria.”

“Erilea?”

Seren then snapped his eyes to his brother, brows furrowed. “How do you know that name?”

“When I travelled to the human world for the very first time, I did my research, tried to learn what I should expect,” Aidan said. “I remember seeing the name thrown there somewhere. I need to find that book again.”

Aidan began to move, but Seren gripped his arm hard. His younger brother looked at him in confusion.

“Don’t,” Seren said simply.

“ _What_?” Aidan said. “You have a chance to find your mate, and you don’t want to? So you’re just going to sit there all night and cry your eyes out?” 

“Let me cry until I forget,” Seren muttered. “In the morning, it’ll be easier.” The young Lord sighed, and shook his head. “Aidan, we can’t find her.” 

“Yes, we can.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Seren said. “We _can’t_ find her.”

Aidan stood, watching his brother for a few moments. “Meaning you don’t want to find her.” 

Seren hesitated. “Nothing good might come of it. She lost someone, too. It hurts her. I saw it. Hell, I _felt_ it. If I succeed, if I find her, I’ll scare her, Aidan. Who does that? Who tries to find someone across worlds?”

“Mates,” Aidan said dumbly.

“That’s not an excuse for me to act like a creep,” Seren frowned. “Tracking her down like prey.” 

“You can’t see it that way-“

“But that’s the way she’ll see it.”

“Fucking hells above and beyond, Seren, who are you to say what’s on a female’s mind and speak for them?” Aidan placed his hands on his waist – his arguing pose. Seren had seen his father do that pose too many times to take his brother seriously. “Who’s to say she doesn’t know?”

“You needed to have seen her face, the way she acted,” Seren said. “Luna felt nothing.”

“So? Mother felt nothing for father for like, ages.”

“Mother was engaged to someone else,” Seren said tightly. “Don’t compare it.”

“You have a chance to find her,” Aidan insisted, squatting down to his brother’s height. “But you’re afraid she might not accept you. That is a chance we all have to take, brother. Mating bonds might not always be bonds of love, but you never know what could happen. Maybe Luna is thinking of you, too. Right now, she might be wondering if she’d come back, if she could. You don’t know. So why not take the chance?” Aidan then said, “Also, you’re forgetting quite an important detail here: your house is warded. No one can winnow in. So how did she manage to not only find Velaris, but also accomplish such a thing, if it wasn’t mean to-“ 

“Aidan, please,” Seren murmured tiredly. “Leave it alone.” 

Aidan was silent, staring at his brother, wanting to shake some sense into him, but knowing that he’d reached a final point.

Aidan patted his brother’s shoulder instead, and said, “If that’s what you wish, brother.”

“It is.”

“Come downstairs. We’ll send word to Naza, get you out of the house, meet at Rita’s-“

“I’m in no mood.” Seren ran his hand through his hair. “Please, just… I’m fine. I just need to be alone. To come to terms with it.”

Aidan stood then. “You know where to find me.”

“Thank you.”

Aidan nodded once, and then he made his way out, sparing his brother one last, worried glance. Aidan walked out of his brother’s town house into the street, the night air caressing the waves of his hair. For a few seconds, he just breathed it in.

_Fucking stars and their bonds._

Without another second to think on it, Aidan made his way to the House of Wind, frowning every step of the way there. Instead of going inside the House, however, Aidan took a turn.

He headed towards the library.

***

“I’m fine, yes, really,” Luna was saying, perhaps for the thousandth time. Her parents were still holding on to her, and all her family had gathered at their apartments in the Palace of Orynth, worried faces scattered around. 

Apparently, the Lochan brothers had raided the woods for a whole hour attempting to find her. They were now standing around her, too, relief in all of their faces.

“I told you she’d just taken a little trip,” Eldon, one of the Lochan twins, said with an elbow smack at Ferran.

“What did I say?” Howlan chimed in, clapping his hands once, startling everyone. “Luna would get her rebellious streak soon enough – either on her own, or with our influence.”

Vaughan and Fenrys looked at each other, but the Queen of Terrasen pulled Luna into her arms, in a grip so tight, that the Prince had to quietly say, “Aelin.”

Aelin let go, and asked, “Where have you been?” 

The question they’d all been asking her.

“I…” Luna paused, wondering what she should say, where she should start. Blue eyes, clear as skies, and midnight hair stayed in her memory, a City of Starlight and a sea so dark going as far as the eyes could see, a river of gems and streets that looked like kaleidoscopes-

_Goodbye then, stranger._

_Goodbye, Seren._

“I teleported to another world,” Luna said, her voice sounding shrill in her ears, like a child who’d seen piles and piles of sweets. Her heart was beating in her throat, as if ready to come out of her mouth.

_Seren. Seren. Seren._

Her family watched her carefully. Gently, Vaughan placed a hand on her forehead.

“Father, I’m fine,” Luna said one last time, removing his hand from her face. “I… I saw the most _beautiful_ city.”

Aelin and Rowan shared a look, as did Elide and Lorcan.

“Wait,” Ragnar said, stepping closer to her. “How did you manage to teleport somewhere you… have never been to?”

“She was just about to explain, give her space,” Eva spat.

“Impatient much, my dearest, loveliest Ashryver?” Ragnar taunted.

“Enough, both of you,” Amara said to them, in her Crown Princess Voice. “Let us sit in the parlour, the poor girl has been through a tough night.”

“I really am fine,” Luna laughed nervously.

With her family gathered, Luna felt extremely small as they all waited for her to explain where she had been and what had happened. She could understand their concern: she was the youngest one. And as such, they would never cease to shelter her. Though, really, they had no reason to, Luna could hold her own.

Explain that to a family of busybodies and overprotective females, though. Just try.

She said patiently, “My theory is that, somehow, I managed to open a Wyrdgate while I was asleep.”

“You’d require a tremendous energy to do such a thing,” Aelin said.

“But Wyrdgates, if you think about it, are extremely similar to what father and I can do,” Luna said, turning her eyes to Fenrys for a moment. She said to them all, “I don’t know how I did it, or why. But one moment I was… in the woods, the next, I was standing in a Town House, in a city called Velaris.”

“Who was there?” Asked Fenrys. “How did you learn this, sweetheart?”

“A male,” she said hesitantly. The moment she did, she saw everybody tense. “He didn’t hurt me,” Luna added quickly. “He was… he was Fae. A Winged Fae. A race called Illyrians lives in this city, in this… Night Court.”

“Night Court?” Aelin said thoughtfully.

Luna nodded. “And, get this: he spoke the common tongue, although he sounded a bit strange. Scratch that, he spoke really weird. It’s like our world and the Night Court were once one. Do we know anything about the Night Court? Its History? I left before I could think to ask.”

Silence.

Until Eva stepped in. “I read it in a book once. A novel.”

“What?”

Eva’s big Ashryver eyes were wide as everyone’s attention turned to her. Even Ragnar held on to every single word she spoke, and Luna noticed how he stepped ever so close to her. “The… Night Court, and Illyrians? I read that in a novel once, Luna.”

“I’m not making it up,” Luna breathed.

“No, I know, that’s not what I’m saying, I…” Eva swallowed. “Aelin, you once said you travelled, when you tried to destroy the Wyrdkeys, during the War. That story you always tell: the pregnant female, the beautiful male…”

“You never said he was beautiful,” Rowan said.

Aelin waved a hand, “A non-essential detail.” She looked at Eva. “Yes?”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Ragnar said.

Eva looked up at him, like it was obvious. “Maybe Aelin wasn’t the only one who travelled there before. The author, too. And now Luna.”

Luna paused, looking around the room. It was Elide that said, “Maybe the Night Court is closer than we think.”

“And if you are right about opening a Wyrdgate,” Ragnar continued, “it could still be opened. Which means we could be vulnerable to an invasion.”

Luna shook her head frantically. “No, they’re not like that. They’re peaceful.”

“How do you know, sweetheart?” Vaughan asked. “You met one of them, who happened to be kind enough not to kill you.”

Luna frowned. “No, I saw the city. He showed me. There were people laughing, walking, dancing in peace. Like us. Plus, he didn’t even seem to know what a Wyrdgate was.”

“That can mean nothing if you cannot know what their intentions are,” Ferran said. “And even if those Fae don’t wish to attack, who knows what kind of monsters they have in their world?”

“Do you think they’d want war?” Andrik asked his brother.

“That’s the thing,” Ferran said, “we don’t know. We have to try and see if we can find the Wyrdgate and close it.”

“Hold on,” Amara said suddenly, startling them all. “We don’t even know if Luna really _did_ open a Wyrdgate. Perhaps something called her from the other side.” She turned to Luna. “Maybe you can teleport at random, Luna. Powers don’t always have to manifest in the same way.”

“Is that possible?” Luna asked Fenrys, but her father had no answer.

Ever since she came back, he’d been holding on to her hand so, so tightly.

“I don’t think they’d want war with us,” Luna was saying, but voices had risen up, and they’d begun to talk over each other, so she wasn’t heard. “They’re good,” she murmured. “He’s good.”

_Goodbye then, stranger._

_Goodbye, Seren._


	4. Chapter 4

In the middle of the night, Ragnar Lochan was yanked out of his dreams by a startling surprise – to a subtle weight on his back, soft lips near his ear.

Eva Ashryver was still in his bed.

Kissing his neck.

Ragnar groaned softly into his pillow. “Again?”

Her soft, melodic laughter caused his chest to ache in a familiar way. Ragnar still remembered the first time they’d done this. How reckless it had all felt to him – to have her hands pull at his shirt, gasps and moans taking the place of their little bickering moments. The first time Eva had taken him to her bed, she’d left early in the morning before he’d woken.

And ever since, everytime they found themselves on a bed, they never woke up to see each other. They were always leaving. Running. It was easier, this way. Or at least that is what they told each other.

So needless to say, he was surprised to still see her there, still bare and wanting, seemingly unwilling to leave so soon.

“Please,” was the only thing Eva said. She whispered it almost with a sort of _tenderness_ attached to it.

No matter how many times he kissed her, or touched her, or loved her, Ashryver always managed to make him lose his damned mind. Here, he could leave behind all the times they’d hurled insults at each other, all the times he’d wanted her and kept it hidden, all the times she’d looked at him with anger and pure, undiluted irritation in her pretty Ashryver eyes, and all the times they’d fought over insignificant things. He left it all behind, until it was just her, consuming him, taking every sharp and jagged piece of him and putting it back together. Even if only for a little while.

Ragnar couldn’t say he minded their arrangement. After all, they had mutually agreed that _this_ was all they would be to each other, and nothing else. It was a way to give in to what they both wanted, and a way to keep their explosiveness at bay. 

But they could always find new ways to kill each other.

And despite how capable they were of infuriating one another, Ragnar couldn’t deny that he would take this, only what she asked of him, and nothing else, and still find some sort of sick comfort in it. Like a cat that has never stepped outside, but spends its days lying by a window in the sunlight.

There was always a window between them.

He pulled her down onto the mattress, lazily kissing her neck. By now, he knew how her body reacted to him; how it moved, and trembled, and looked. He knew that the brush of his teeth against her skin made her gasp. And for all her stubbornness, for all the times she’d stomped her foot at him, for all the times she’d responded to his mockery and taunting and teasing with weapons of her own, when she was in his arms, Eva _melted_.

Her arms made their way to his shoulders, and she caressed the hair at the back of his neck, scratching ever so lightly. His muscles strained. Ashryver had learned a few things along the way, too.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact that he was exhausted, or maybe it was simply the way her eyes shined in the darkness, the way her auburn hair fell over the pillows, but all Ragnar wanted to do was kiss her, all over. Memorize her body over and over and over again.

The silence between them was gentle, like settling dust. Eva pressed down slightly on his neck, as she whispered, “What is it?”

He couldn’t speak. He didn’t dare to.

Instead, he let his hand run down her cheek, connecting little freckles here and there, all the way down to her neck. Little dots spread over her body, down her stomach, over her legs. He memorized them all. Ragnar allowed his hand to travel in silence, and when Eva’s breath caught, he looked up.

She was watching him. 

This close, he could feel her breathing against him. He could hear her heartbeat pick up. He knew she could hear his.

His hand rose over her body, his thumb marking patterns up her hip, her waist, until it reached the side of her breast.

Wordlessly, Eva lifted up a hand, and without taking her eyes off him, she placed it on his own chest, over his own beating heart. Her lips parted, her eyes lowering to her hand. Ragnar’s thumb moved over little stretch marks on her skin, around her breast, and at that, Eva’s eyes looked up once more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She breathed.

“You don’t like me looking at you?” His voice sounded too stiff. Too… _off_. Air caught in his throat.

“I like you looking at me,” she said, then paused. And then, “But you’ve never looked at me like that.”

“Like what, Ashryver?” 

She had no answer to give him. Or she did, but Eva refused to acknowledge it. So she tugged him down and she kissed him.

A match being dropped in forest grounds.

There they went – the flames. Up, and up, until all the smoke clouded their minds, until there was nothing that could save them.

Eva wrapped her leg around his waist, showing him exactly what she wanted with a slow roll of her hips. At his soft gasp, she smiled against his kiss, smiled some more when his hands tightened their grip on her.

But then she was flipped over.

The sound she made was swallowed by her pillow. Eva could feel him, hot and ready behind her, his chest against her back, his clever hands pulling her hair over to one shoulder. She tried to move closer to him, raise herself on her knees to meet him, but Ragnar’s body was a cage.

Eva bit her lip in anticipation when she felt his mouth at her shoulder. She couldn’t help but arch against him. Ragnar stopped kissing her then, and clicked his tongue, saying against her ear, “Now, now, Ashryver. Be patient, will you?”

“Patience is not one of my best qualities.”

He laughed wickedly then, just a breath against her ear, and enough for her to feel exactly what his voice did to her. Again, he kissed her neck, from the side to her nape, and Eva breathed a soft, frustrated sigh, feeling him so close yet still so far. When she felt him brush his teeth over her neck, she thought she’d lose it. He liked to do that, the _bastard_ – making her lose.

Ragnar never bit her. And Eva hadn’t dared to put her teeth on him, either. Marking each other would mean that they belonged together.

Which they didn’t.

But then and there she almost begged him to. Just imagining that sweet pain made her legs tremble.

At last, she felt him. Eva breathed out, gripping her pillow hard enough that the material ripped at the seams. She always waited to hear that soft snarl he let out whenever he was buried deep inside her, and when it came, Eva asked him to give her everything.

His arms rested on either side of her, and Eva held on to his hand as each one of his thrusts sent her moaning his name into her ruined pillow. Her nails on his skin almost drew blood.

He needed her as much as she needed him, so Ragnar refused to play around. He gave Ashryver everything she begged him to, and when she gave her final, muffled gasp, he allowed himself to reach that end, burying his face in her neck, but keeping his teeth very far from her skin.

Afterwards, he couldn’t sleep.

She wrecked him time and time again.

When he thought Eva would leave, she settled down next to him, staring at the ceiling, as he was. Softly, she said, “Hey.”

“What?”

“Do you ever wonder,” Eva said, licking her lips, “what else is out there?”

“Philosophical hour, is it?”

She looked at him, deadpan. Ragnar snorted a laugh and said, “Yes, Ashryver, I do.”

“Luna teleporting herself tonight made me wonder at that,” she said. “Other worlds. With people like us. Others with something else entirely. It’s all so vast. So… _infinite_. I feel so small.”

“You’re not small,” he murmured.

Eva looked at him once again, taking in the beautiful profile. Ragnar only added, “If this Night Court place is at a step’s reach, I think we need to be aware.” A pause. “Luna could have been killed tonight.”

Eva sat up, wrapping the sheets around herself, feeling cold. “I know.”

“But she says they’re peaceful,” Ragnar said. “What do you think?”

Eva shook her head. “You know Luna. If a tiger prowls after her, she will see something fluffy, not something with fangs. If it happens again, I’m afraid for her. I’m afraid her heart might get her killed.” Eva looked down at Ragnar, her eyes narrowing, as if something occurred to her. But instead of speaking her mind, she moved out of the bed.

“Ashryver?”

“Wait here,” she said, putting on her nightshift and running out of his chambers.

Not even a minute later, she was back, breathless, bringing a book in her hand. Eva jumped on the bed and showed the cover to him. “I found this author nearly three years ago in Aelin’s library. Look.”

“Eliah Vidar,” Ragnar read. “What? Is he the one that wrote that Night Court book you were talking about?”

“His other series,” Eva explained, “is called _Lands of Glory_. It’s got seven volumes. Each book takes place in a different land which he calls _courts_. There are seasonal courts and solar courts. Volume one is about the Night Court.” Eva swallowed hard. “Ragnar, the way this author describes it… this city of Starlight, it sounds exactly like what Luna described. She wouldn’t be able to make it up. Which means that this Eliah Vidar has most likely _been_ to these courts.”

Ragnar looked at her, really looked. And his stomach dropped slightly, because he knew the Princess of Terrasen inside out. He knew that fervour in her eyes: it was the same fervour she had in lectures with her hunger to learn, the same fervour he saw in her eyes when she knew something he didn’t.

It was the same look Eva got before she did something dangerous.

“We can find answers,” she whispered. “Without Luna getting hurt.”

“Answers?” Ragnar said. “What do you want answers for, Ashryver? What we need is to know if Luna teleported herself there, or if she opened a Wyrdgate, where anything can get through.”

“You know as well as I do that that’s unlikely. Creating a Wyrdgate would obliterate anyone.”

Ragnar frowned. “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

“Come with me,” she said, eyes shining. “We’ll find this Eliah and we’ll ask him some things, and then we’ll leave.”

Ragnar’s jaw tensed. He almost told her _yes_ right away, but instinct kept him silent, pondering.

“Why are you asking _me_?”

“If you don’t want to, just say no,” Eva said, crossing her arms. “I’ll go there myself.”

He knew there was no changing her mind.

“Fine,” Ragnar said, sighing. “Fine.”

Eva didn’t try to hide her smile.

“And how do you suppose to find his address, _smartass_?”

Eva raised a brow. “It’s on the inside cover, _dumbass_.” She opened the book and smacked the cover on his face. This close, the letters smudged together in his vision. “Eliah Vidar lives with his dog Sisi in Orynth, writing about magical words, far away from our reach,” she recited.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes. “Admit this is just some excuse to meet him. You’ve read all his books.”

Eva gasped. “How dare you,” she spat. “This is for Luna.”

“Right, of course.”

Ashryver rolled her eyes at him. Oh, he loved to push her buttons more than he loved the air he breathed. “Fine, then. Whatever you hope to accomplish, I’ll be there to see it,” Ragnar said.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Eva threw the book onto his nightstand. “Read it. It’s good.”

“Come here, Ashryver.” Without another word, he pulled her closer, onto his lap. Lost in kisses, Eva melted in his arms, and lost in her, Ragnar pulled her down onto the mattress for the third time that night.

***

In the morning, she met him near the Grand doors leading to the gravel path.

Ragnar gave her a look as he approached. “Looking a little taller today, Ashryver.”

With a sneer, Eva shifted back into her original height, and didn’t hide her scowl as her and Ragnar made their way to the stables where their horses were being prepared for their journey.

“You know,” Ragnar said as Eva mounted, trying very hard not to look at the way her legs looked in riding trousers, “there is no guarantee that he will agree to speak with you.”

Eva looked genuinely affronted. “I’m a Princess. He can’t deny me.”

“Not everyone is willing to fall and drool at your feet, my darling.”

Ashryver gave him a grin so wicked that Ragnar stood frozen for a few seconds, before he managed to mount. His wrists still showed her pretty little nail marks from the night before.

“Are they not?” She asked sweetly. “ _You_ certainly are.”

He scoffed, following her horse out of the stables and into gentle sunlight.

“You’re not taking any guards?” Ragnar asked as they began to ride out of the gates of the Palace, with no one following them.

“Scared, Lochan?” Eva asked. “No worries, you have me.”

It was his turn to scowl. “You’re a royal,” he said sensibly. “If anything, your station requires you to have-”

Eva looked at him sideways. “Are you done? We’ve been riding for less than a minute and you’re already boring me. Yawn.”

“You really _are_ unbearable.”

“I’m not so unbearable when I have you begging underneath me,” she bit back.

Which reminded him – they hadn’t been alone like that out of the bedroom in ages.

“Still unbearable,” he muttered, sheltering his eyes from the sun, though it didn’t stop him from noticing her sly smile.

***

After asking around for the name Eliah Vidar in a few stores and taverns, where Ashryver charmed every single person she crossed eyes with, they learned that Eliah had a cottage on the outskirts of the village, near a tower mill.

When they found it, Eva couldn’t keep still on her horse. She was _squealing_.

“Fucking Gods and their bastards,” Ragnar grumbled under his breath, watching her. “He can’t be that good.”

“Oh, he’s _that_ good,” Eva said.

They dismounted, and let their horses have a drink in the stream. Eva took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

The male who greeted her was nothing like what she expected.

Tanned skin, a sculpted nose and captivating eyes. He wore a forest green coat so long that it dragged on the wooden floor, and a scandalously low-cut shirt. His dark brown hair curled over his eyes as he watched them both.

Eva only reacted when she felt Ragnar’s eyes on her. “Eliah Vidar?”

The male’s sensual lips spread into a smile. “Perhaps. What does Her Highness desire with a writer like Eliah Vidar?”

Eva had to supress a strange and overwhelming need to giggle. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “Mister Vidar, we are not here on Court business. But we do have some important questions to ask you, it would help us greatly if you could spare us a few minutes of your day. May we come in?”

Eliah’s eyes were humorous as he turned to Ragnar. 

“Oh, how rude of me, I did not introduce you,” Eva said. “Mister Vidar, this is Lord Ragnar-“

“Why, yes,” Vidar said. “One of the young Lords of Perranth. Third-born, if I am not mistaken?”

Ragnar visibly tensed, though Eva had no idea why.

He simply said, “Yes,” in his usual brooding voice.

Vidar turned his eyes to Eva. “My dear, do come in.”

Eva gave Ragnar a triumphant look before they both entered the cottage. It was a quaint little space, and a dog that almost did not seem to belong there because of its sheer size lounged on the ground, near a burning fireplace.

They sat in one of the couches, and Eva didn’t fail to notice that Ragnar sat very, _very_ close to her.

She sighed. _Overprotective idiot._

Vidar offered them a cup of tea, which Eva politely declined. Ragnar allowed his to turn cold.

“I reckon your name isn’t really Eliah, is it?” Eva pondered as she looked at Vidar sipping his tea on the couch opposite to theirs.

Eliah chuckled then, the sound rumbly and oddly comforting. “Clever girl,” he mused. “How did you guess?”

“I read a lot of books,” Eva responded. “And I can easily recognize writing styles. You writing seems awfully similar to one Saaro Balor.” She smiled coyly. “Will we only get to know you by your pseudonyms?”

The male placed his tea back onto the saucer and grinned at Eva in a way that made her tingle. “Very well observed, Your Highness.”

Eva nodded once in thanks.

“My real name is Viktor,” he said.

“Do you live with someone, Viktor?” Ragnar abruptly asked. “Apologies for the intrusive question, only that I am here to protect our Princess. I scent a female, but I do not see one.”

Eva gave Ragnar a sideways glance.

But Viktor only smiled. “My partner. She went to fetch some wood for the fire, My Lord. I hope you see no danger inside my home.”

Ragnar only stared back.

Eva cleared her throat. “So, Viktor, I recently came across one of your oldest books. A series called _Lands of Glory_?”

“Ah, yes,” Viktor said in a reminiscing tone. “Did you like it?”

“I did.”

“Coming from such an avid reader, that might be the greatest compliment.”

Ragnar almost threw up in his mouth, especially as Ashryver blushed bright red.

Come _on_.

“You describe a territory, a court, called the Night Court,” Eva said. “We have recently discovered it is a real place, and-”

“A real place?” Viktor chuckled under his breath.

Eva furrowed her brows. “Is it not?” 

“My dearest, Prythian is mythical. A legend, if you will.”

“Prythian?” Eva asked.

“The continent in which the Night Court belongs, where you find all the other courts, and even a sacred place called The Middle.”

Ragnar could see Ashryver’s brilliant mind work. He could see every turn, every thought running through her. At last, she said, “All myths come from somewhere, Viktor.”

“Indeed.”

He was playing a game with them, Ragnar knew. And Eva knew that, too.

So she asked him instead, “Where did this one come from? How do you know so much about it? Call it reader’s curiosity.”

Viktor hesitated. “Well, Your Highness, Prythian is a story that has been told through generations of my family. It is as old as our name. I am solemnly a writer, you see, I have no interest in geography, I do not know if such a myth could have foundations of reality. But I do know that I spent all my life reading through journals of my ancestors, and most of them told this story, with different sides to it, of course. Bits and pieces, here and there. Broken parts of a mirror that I glued together to create _Lands of Glory_.”

“Would it be possible for your ancestors to have lived in the Night Court, and somehow managed to pass through a Wyrdgate to this world?”

Ragnar turned his head to Eva. His mind hadn’t taken him this far – it was clear to him that she’d had this conversation planned from the very beginning, and that she had turned over all possibilities.

Brilliant. She was brilliant.

“Life is full of possibilities.”

“Spoken like a writer.”

“But I am afraid I have no answers to your questions, my dear Princess. There is little I wouldn’t give to read my lost ancestors’ journals, to check that myself. But a family has many branches, and things get lost over the centuries.”

“A pity, indeed,” murmured Eva. A pause. “In your book, you talk about a Mountain in The Middle. A Mountain where these Fae came to worship. What did they worship, exactly?”

Viktor gave her a sly smile. “I am afraid I am still writing book eight, and cannot tell you that.”

Ragnar focused his gaze on his shoes so he wouldn’t roll his eyes. Eva drummed her fingers on her knees.

“Stories are what we make them,” Viktor said. “Be it real or not, Prythian is a dangerous, terrible place, my dear. Filled with monstrosities only the Gods can imagine. If the retellings of the few ancestors I know of are correct, then bless us all, my dear Princess. We must thank our stars that they have no access to our world as of yet.”

“Why?” Asked Ragnar.

“Because they would destroy it, like they destroyed theirs. Without mercy. Without pity.”

The silence was broken by the dog’s lazy yawn. Ragnar looked at Eva, to see her lost in thought.

At last, the Princess looked up at Viktor, “Out of curiosity once again, Viktor, may you tell us your family name?”

“Vanserra, Your Highness,” Viktor said. “My name is Viktor Vanserra.”

***

“It was odd,” Eva said. “He looked as if he was holding something back.”

As they walked back to their horses, Eva couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the cottage.

_A family has many branches._

_Without mercy._

_Without pity._

Ragnar was silent, too. Not too odd for him to be quiet, but Eva didn’t like the look on his face one bit.

“What is it?” She asked him.

Ragnar didn’t turn to her. He whistled for the horses, and then he said, “You were practically melting in front of him.”

“I was _not_.”

“Yes, yes, you were,” Ragnar bit back. “It was obvious.”

Eva almost staggered back. She crossed her arms over her chest, and rounded him to meet his eyes. “What is up with you?”

“Admit you only came here to see him.”

Eva sneered. “We needed this information, Lochan. Meeting an author that I happen to enjoy has nothing to do with it. And I was certainly _not_ melting. I don’t _melt_.”

Ragnar scoffed, recalling how her body had moulded to his own the moment he’d pulled her onto his lap.

“I know what this is about,” she scoffed. “You’re _jealous_.”

They’d been very clear with each other the moment they’d made their deal: they did not belong to one another, and so they were not tied. They could take as many lovers as they wished to, so jealousy was out of the question.

Ragnar wasn’t able to answer her. He felt too angry, too… ashamed for being angry in the first place, when he had no right to.

“Admit it,” she said, taking a step closer. “Say the words, once in your life.”

“You really want me under your thumb, don’t you, Your Highness,” he snarled at her. “I’m a dog to be called whenever you’re lonely. I speak whenever you tell me to.”

“Fuck you, Ragnar,” Eva snarled back. “You know I’m right. You know how you tensed the moment that male looked at me, and you know damn well I noticed it, too. It’s not the jealousy, you idiot, it’s the fact that you can’t even admit it to _yourself_.”

“You’re a hypocrite, Ashryver,” he said. “A dirty, _fucking_ hypocrite.”

“How am _I_ the hypocrite?” She shouted.

“Don’t you recall a few nights ago when we arrived in Orynth? Don’t you recall the male you talked out of-“

“I didn’t talk him out of anything,” Eva growled. “I found him in the hallway, all broken apart because you refused to take him into your bed-“

“You intimidated him.”

“I told him what he already knew, what everybody already knows,” Eva said. “That if you don’t want anyone, you won’t take anyone to bed. That’s _that_.”

He breathed hard, so many words ready to be said, so many words he could _never_ say-

Eva stepped back then, as if afraid she would lose it and kiss him. She glared at him. “Of course I’m jealous. But at least I have the guts to admit it. I’ve never been a coward, and I’m not going to start being one with you.”

With that, she turned, and whistled to the horses again. Ragnar fumed, and looked at the tree she’d almost backed him into, wondering if he should ask the Gods for it to fall right on him and bury him deep in the dirt.

_Whatever_.

Let her rage at him and let her scream at the top of her lungs for all he cared-

“Ashryver,” he said then, noticing the sudden scent in the air.

Ragnar looked around the forest, not seeing her or the horses. His heart picked up speed, his throat closed up. They were not far from the village, but far enough that-

“ _Ashryver_ -“

It was too quick.

Way, way, too quick. 

An ash arrow pierced his arm with such strength that it pierced the tree bark behind him as well. Ragnar growled in pain, and in his fury, in his urgency to protect her, he forgot that he was pinned by the arrow to the tree and his skin _ripped_ around the arrow.

The pain blinded him.

_Eva. Eva. Eva._

_Get to Eva._

“Ashryver,” he whispered, his voice lost.

He knew only two things, as his mind turned to smoke.

He knew that whoever had shot him had planned it, because this arrow was not a regular arrow.

And he knew that Eva was now screaming his name at the top of her lungs, probably running to him, and he could do nothing to protect her, nothing to stop her from running towards danger.

Ragnar could do _nothing_.

His mind slipped; his body sagged.

He could hear it – fighting. Bloody and terrible.

_Eva. Eva. Eva._

Was she fighting whoever had hurt him, or were they fighting _her_?

His last thought was of her calling him a coward, before darkness took him.

***

She had never shifted so fast in her life.

Her bones ached from the readjustment. Her blood thrummed in her veins painfully. Her mind narrowed to one thing and one thing only: Ragnar, bleeding, motionless and pinned against a tree with an arrow.

After disappearing out of his sight, Eva had taken a turn, reaching for the horses, who’d been sitting together by the tall grasses – flirting with each other, no less – and she’d seen it.

Her.

A female, perched on a branch, hidden. Not hidden enough.

Eva could only scream his name in warning, but it was already too late. The arrow had found its mark.

When the female took the shot, she jumped from the branch, running toward Ragnar, a knife in her hand. The female knew Eva had seen her, and she wanted to win.

But Eva was fast.

A growl fell from her jaw, her sharp teeth snapping as she ran. Eva didn’t know what she had become with the urgency of her shifting. A tiger? A leopard? A mountain cat?

_Something_.

The female clearly hadn’t expected her ruthlessness or her stealth. Either way, it worked to Eva’s advantage.

She saw red.

She could smell Ragnar’s blood.

She could see his body fighting to stay up.

_They’d hurt him. She’d hurt him._

Eva didn’t think. She had lost all ability to. She just _moved_.

She collided with the female in full force, and though she was strong, Eva was stronger in this form. The knife flew from the female’s hand, puncturing a tree somewhere. They both fell into the ground, and Eva pinned the female with her paws and nails, snapping her jaws. Rage tore at her every bone, rage like she’d never known. The Princess of Terrasen was gone.

In her place, a predator.

A killer.

The female gasped, trying to use her arms and legs to push Eva off her, but Eva was too big. With a paw to the female’s chest, Eva struck.

Blood fell from her lips.

Eva looked down at the nameless female. She had torn her throat out. Lifeless eyes stared at the sky.

She shifted back clumsily, and tried to walk in human legs to Ragnar, fur leaving her body. Blood tasted different in her own mouth.

She had _killed_ someone.

_The female would have killed Ragnar_ , Eva thought. And as she looked at Ragnar, sagging against the tree, white as chalk, she waited for the remorse to come, the guilt to arrive.

It didn’t.

Eva felt nothing but concern for him. And – and _relief_.

She breathed hard, shakily, as she murmured, “Ragnar. Oh, Ragnar.”

Carefully, she reached between him and the tree, and snapped the arrow in half.

Ragnar fell forward.

Eva caught him easily, though her body was still adjusting to how quick she’d changed, and it almost made her fall backwards – the force of his weight.

“Ashryver,” he whispered.

His voice frightened her more than anything.

“We’re going home,” she whispered to him. “You’ll be alright.”

As she led him back to the horses, half-dragging him, Eva didn’t think of herself, walking completely naked through a forest, she didn’t think of the female she had killed to save Ragnar’s life.

She could only think of him.

And then – something else.

The scent on the female-

It had been Viktor Vanserra’s scent.


	5. Chapter 5

A grey falcon sat poised on a chimney top, watching the busy market street while it rested its tired wings. It had reached Perranth in the early morning sun, having spent two entire days soaring the skies headed west.

Despite the heat wave, the people of Perranth cluttered up the streets, selling and buying. Children blew soap bubbles in the air. One bubble exploded on the falcon’s beak. No one noticed its presence, for it was a small little thing, no bigger than a morning dove. But the falcon was no ordinary animal.

Oren carried a small pouch around his neck with two silver coins his parents were gracious enough to lend him for the journey. When he’d told them about the two males and their plans to hurt the royal family, his father had been adamant that Oren should not leave. Not in his animal form, nor in _any_ form. But Oren had looked at his mother then, her eyes sparkling with tears, and she’d known that there was nothing she could say or do to stop her son from journeying to the western continent.

After all, Oren could not bring himself to do nothing while there was a group planning to hurt innocents. To hurt the children of those who had saved their world.

So Oren had waited out the storm, and he’d flown out of Doranelle the morning after. Try as he might to find the scent of the males he’d heard, Oren wasn’t successful. The rain had washed everything out. So he kept going. Flying over the Great Ocean that divided both continents, until he reached the coast of Suria, then turning north, towards Perranth. If he left now, he would be in Orynth by nightfall.

But Oren had barely any strength left in him. He would be no use to the Queen and to the Prince if he was passed out or dead.

He found a hidden alcove behind one of the buildings and quickly shifted back into himself. He stubbled into the wall slightly. After almost three days in the skies, walking on two feet felt highly unfamiliar to him. He decided to pick the first tavern he saw, a small, dark, yet welcoming place and ordered the strongest tea they had, plus a delicious looking vegetable pie.

The owner, a short, plump male, smiled pleasantly at him, a curious glint in his eyes. “’Been a long time since we have had visitors from Doranelle.”

Oren smiled through a mouth of scalding tea. “That obvious?”

The male choked on a laugh. “That hair of yours gives it away, my friend. Thinking of stopping by the market today? I heard some really good deals being made.”

“I’m here to see the Queen,” Oren said, diving into his pie. “Urgent matter.”

“Oh.” The male looked worried. “I’d advise you to take someone with you on your journey. It hasn’t been easy up in the Great North…”

Oren frowned, fork halting mid-way. “What do you mean?”

“Of course, you have not heard,” the chatty male said, his tone lowering as he leaned over the counter, closer to Oren. “Our Lady Elide took her children to Terrasen, and only yesterday, our Lord Ragnar was shot with an ash arrow. Folks are saying the boy has passed, though the Queen has not announced it, but our Lady and her Lord husband have yet to return with their children.”

Oren stopped eating completely, a knot turning in his stomach. “What,” he whispered.

“A tragedy,” the male shook his head. “I tell you, friend, you’ve decided to come at a really dangerous time. The things a tavern owner hears…”

Ragnar Lochan. Presumed dead. Shot by an ash arrow.

Certainly, there had to be a connection to the males Oren had overheard and this. The Lochans had no enemies, not in Wendlyn, not in Terrasen, not in the whole of Erilea-

Or perhaps they did.

_Half-bred children._

_Unnaturals._

_Kill a rose not by its roots, but by ripping its stems._

Those words had been stabbing at his mind the moment Oren overheard them. Suddenly, the broken pieces of the males’ conversation began to make sense. This was a group set on eliminating any ruler who was not full-blooded Fae. Shifters. Demi-Fae.

_Half-breeds,_ as the males had called them.

“You alright, friend?” The male asked Oren.

But whatever words Oren had thought to say were then lost.

If anything had truly happened to the Lord of Perranth…

Then Oren was already too late.

***

“How is he?”

“Breathing.”

Luna crossed the infirmary, and wrapped her arms around Eva before the shifter could totally fall apart. It had been hours since Ragnar and Eva had arrived, bloody and battered, Eva dressed in nothing but rags, shouting for help, and Ragnar close to being unconscious. Luna had been in her own apartments, on the west wing of the palace, and had only known what had happened when a messenger had knocked on her door to bring her the news.

Luna had met Eva in the throne room, her heart beating out of her chest when she saw her cousin: dry blood covering her lips, her eyes flashing yellow and brimming with hushed tears. She’d been standing in front of the Queen and the Prince, her mother and father beside her.

Luna had watched Lysandra’s shaking arm wrapping around her daughter. She’d seen the rage in Aedion’s eyes, the fear. Ragnar had already been taken away. To Luna’s endless surprise, Eva had not been trembling. She had not yet broken down, most likely to shock, but then again, her cousin had always been a mountain of adamant.

Aelin had touched Eva’s blood-crusted hands, breathing in slowly as Eva retold the story of what had happened.

“I killed her,” Eva had said. “And I need you to know,” she said to Aelin, to her parents, to the Prince and to Luna, “Whatever consequences may come, I’ll face them. But I do not regret it. I felt no guilt then, Aelin, and I do not feel it now.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper, as if Eva herself couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. As if she was only then realizing that she truly, _truly_ meant those words. She continued, “She was going to kill Ragnar. I couldn’t let her. If you punish me, then do it, but know there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it.” Eva had turned to her parents then, tears in her eyes, but with a calmness that struck Luna: “I’m so sorry.”

Lysandra had let out a sob, and pushed her daughter closer to her chest. Eva had allowed herself to be held, but Luna had known without looking at her face – she had known how numb Eva felt. It hadn’t sunk in, not really, not yet. When it finally did, Eva would break. For now, however, the mountain still stood.

“My darling girl,” Aedion had whispered, kissing her head. “You did what you had to do. My brave, brave Eva.”

“Your father is right,” Aelin had said, brushing away a tear of her own. Even Rowan had to turn his eyes away from the scene, his hands turned into fists. Luna hadn’t doubted that the Prince would be hunting down whoever did it. The Prince, and the Wolf of the North together. “You wouldn’t have done it if you and Ragnar hadn’t been in danger. You have nothing to be forgiven for. If you had not killed that female, you and Ragnar would be dead. I would never accept it. Not ever.”

“Aelin,” Eva had whispered.

The Queen had raised her chin. “You survived, Eva. We all do terrible things to survive. I learned it the hard way. You _survived_ , and you _saved_ Ragnar. No punishment awaits you.”

“She wouldn’t stop,” Eva had whispered. “She wouldn’t have stopped. She was sent to kill him. She was sent to kill my-“

Aedion had held his daughter, and-

There.

Eva’s first sign of breaking – her trembling hands.

Avalanches can’t be prevented.

Luna had approached her cousin in shaky, unstable steps.

“He’s being taken care of,” Aedion had said to his daughter. “Your brother is there with him. Elide and Lorcan, and Andrea, too. His brothers are on their way.”

“He’s going to be alright, darling,” Lysandra had said. “He’s going to be alright.”

Eva had closed her eyes momentarily, grounding herself.

Her words had been nothing more than a breath. “I need to bathe.”

“I’ll take her,” Luna had softly said to both Lysandra and Aedion. Slowly, she had taken Eva into her arms. “Come with me.”

Step by painful step up those stairs. And still – Eva hadn’t broken.

When Luna had sat at the edge of the tub, combing Eva’s hair, washing away the blood and the dirt, Eva hadn’t broken. When Luna had dressed her, still, Eva hadn’t broken.

She wouldn’t, Luna realized.

Even faced with an avalanche, the Princess stood.

And she _didn’t_ break.

Ragnar had spent most of the day and that night unconscious. Luna hadn’t dared to leave her cousin’s side, not for anything. She hadn’t been able to sleep much, anyways, and Eva needed her now more than ever. They spoke to Ragnar’s healers, and it seemed that luck had finally struck them. The arrow hadn’t damaged his arm, and the ash hadn’t had enough time to sink into his blood.

Ragnar lived.

“They still had to put him to sleep after they fed him,” Eva said when they broke apart from each other. The Princess ran a heavy hand through her tired face, her eyes hollow and colourless, staring into nothing. Luna’s chest ached. “But he’s healing well.”

“Those are good news,” Luna smiled, running her hands up and down Eva’s arms. She was cold as ice. “He’ll be up and running in no time. And I just got a message from Rhia, she’s on her way.”

Eva’s expression didn’t change.

“Eva?” Luna whispered.

“I need to speak to Aelin,” Eva murmured. “Excuse me.”

She didn’t wish to be followed, Luna knew. But it killed Luna to see Eva go on her own.

“She blames herself,” Andrea, the youngest Lochan, said, walking to Luna to stand beside her. They both stared at Eva’s retreating figure. “She thinks she’s the reason why Ragnar got hurt. Before my parents went to sleep, Eva spoke to them. I’ve never seen her like that, Luna. It frightened me.” Andrea wrapped her arms around herself, sighing softly. “She told them it was all her fault.”

Luna shook her head. “She couldn’t have known,” she whispered.

“Of course not,” Andrea murmured. “But you know Eva.” The youngest Lochan looked over her shoulder at her brother Andrik, sitting with Ragnar, who still slept. She turned back to Luna and whispered, so Andrik wouldn’t hear, “Is Rhiannon really coming?”

Luna nodded.

“Good,” Andrea said softly. “Andrik needs her. He’s… not well. Even if Ragnar is alright, no one can pry him away from the bed. Ferran tried. So did I. He hasn’t slept.”

Luna touched Andrea’s hand. The girl bit back tears as she looked at Luna. “Asterin is on her way, too, Andy.”

Andrea breathed a shaky sigh of relief, a tear spilling. “Okay. Okay.”

“Everything is going to be alright.” Luna whispered. “Everything is going to be alright.”

She repeated it to herself silently. Again, and again, and again, without letting go of Andrea’s hand. Luna couldn’t help but think about Leander, and the fact that that cursed day could have been the day Luna lost Ragnar and Eva. Two more people she loved.

When Andrea pulled her into a hug, Luna didn’t hold herself back from breaking. She was no mountain of adamant, and the avalanche could very well destroy everything in its path and take her with it.

***

“I have enough reason to know he’s in it,” Eva was saying to the Queen. Aelin was still in her nightshift, sipping cold tea in the parlour, watching Eva with a simmering anger in her eyes. “The female had his scent all over her.”

“You’re right,” Aelin said at last. “This was planned. It has been planned for a long time.”

“They were just waiting for an opportunity,” Eva said, her voice uneven. “And I took us to them.”

“Stop it,” Aelin said, touching Eva’s hand. “I’ve never once in your life given you an order, Eva, but I’ll give you one now: _stop it_.”

“It’s true,” Eva whispered. “What I told Lorcan and Elide is true. I led us there. He wanted to take guards. I said no. I mocked him for it. Ragnar just wanted to keep us safe.” Eva shook her head. “My- Ragnar almost got killed because of my stupidity.”

Aelin turned to Eva fully. “So, I’ll tell you the same Lorcan and Elide told you, Eva, to _remind_ you. Ragnar makes his own decisions, he’s a grown male. And _you couldn’t have known_.”

“He trusts me,” Eva said. “And look where that got us.” The Princess looked towards the window. The night looked empty. Too silent. “Aelin, these people want us gone. They do not like that your court is filled with half-breeds. I have been hearing these things all my life, but I have been sheltered inside Caraverre, inside Orynth. But they hate us. They hate us enough to wish us dead. What happens to shifters who aren’t sheltered inside these walls? What happens to the _half-breeds_ they catch unaware?”

“Viktor Vanserra isn’t the only one, no,” Aelin agreed. “I’ll send a search party. We’ll go into the villages. This hatred has to end.”

“I want him dead,” Eva whispered.

Aelin turned Eva’s face to her. “It’s alright to cry, you know that, right?”

Eva’s hand trembled. She nodded, but her chin was raised, and she refused to shed tears.

“Crying won’t help,” Eva said, rising. “Action will.”

***

Andrik had fallen asleep.

His back hurt all over, and his neck felt strained, but-

That scent.

His eyes opened, and he realized it was still dark out, and Ragnar was still sleeping in front of him, bandages in his arm and a bowl of bloody water at their side. It wasn’t until he felt a comforting hand on his back that he fully came awake.

Rhiannon.

Andrik stared up at her, blinking. Rhia’s yellow eyes turned to Ragnar then, her jaw ticking once, before she returned her gaze to Andrik. She whispered, “I came as soon as I heard.”

Andrik let out a soft breath. He took her hand, unafraid. “You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here.”

Rhia knelt in front of him, squeezing his hand once. “How is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” Andrik said, sniffing slightly. “Eva is… in shock. We all are.”

Rhiannon stared at him. “Your sister tells me you have not slept.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t leave him.”

Rhiannon said, “You will do your brother no favours falling asleep at the edge of his bed and giving yourself a sore neck. Look at me, Andrik.” The softness in her voice did things to him. It did things to his heart. It calmed him. “I need you to sleep, alright?”

Andrik hesitated.

But Rhiannon stood, and touched his hands, helping him up. He only realized how truly tired he was when he wobbled on his feet. Rhia wrapped her arms around him, not so much to steady him but to simply… embrace him.

Andrik froze.

How many times had he dreamt of a kind word from her? How many times had he imagined her finally believing that his heart was hers? 

And yet, that embrace was everything he needed then. It was everything he needed to stop himself from falling apart. So he slowly pulled her close, resting his forehead on her shoulder, breathing her in.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Rhiannon only squeezed him tightly. After a few seconds, she whispered to him, “Come on. We both need some sleep. I have been riding all night.”

“I didn’t hear your Wyvern.”

“You heard nothing at all, Lochan,” Rhia said, pulling away but not fully letting go. “You were out of it. My mother and father were here, too.”

“Dorian and Manon came, too?”

Rhia nodded. “They’re with Aelin now.”

He sighed heavily, looking once more at his brother. Rhia looped her arm through his. “Come on,” she said softly.

With one last glance, Andrik allowed Rhiannon to take him away. All the way up to his rooms, she held his hand, their fingers entwined, as if Rhia planned to not let go so soon.

***

Eva Ashryver was a strange combination of things.

A shifter and a Fae, a Lady and a Princess, a reader, a painter, and now a killer.

It was true that her mother’s side was dominant, and throughout her life, Eva had been incredibly jealous of Ragnar for his abilities – how he always managed to sneak up on her, how he heard everyone arrive before she could, how he could always smell what desert the cooks were working on while it was completely lost on her.

Maybe that’s why he’d always irritated her so – not because he bested her, but because he was so in-her-face about it.

She longed for those abilities – for stronger hearing, sense of smell and perception. And she longed for him. She had longed for him for years. Eva had been a fool to think it was some frivolous, passing thing.

Ragnar was brooding, pretentious, sarcastic. He was her competition. The one she always had to fight for top place at their lectures. He was her enemy. The one that always told her exactly how it is, and never once apologized for it. He was her rival. The one whose gaze she always met across the dinner table, in defiance. They were born to challenge each other. There was always _something_ between them. There always _had_ to be something between them. He was her first kiss. The one that had caught her amongst books in Orynth’s library, who had interrupted her rambling with his mouth as dust fell around them. She remembered that moment as if it was yesterday. They’d been fighting over something, _again_ – she’d shifted to look like him that one time, just to mess with him. He’d been so angry with her. And she’d laughed in his face, just like he’d laughed himself hoarse when she’d tripped on that mud puddle, years and years before. The day, he’d had enough of her. Ragnar had touched both her cheeks, and kissed her so aggressively that Eva had almost fallen backwards into the books. But he’d caught her, and whether he knew it or not, he’d caught her each time after that. He’d caught her, one arm around her waist, his eyes locked on hers, their lips touching. Eva had been so shocked that she’d frozen into place. But then, somehow, they’d begun to really kiss, and her eyes had fluttered shut, and it was gentle and unhurried, and he’d pressed her against his chest, and Eva’s soul might’ve left her body and gone somewhere, she didn’t know, and her heart might have jumped out of her chest and taken a walk amongst the roses, she didn’t know either. But he’d been her first kiss, dust falling over their heads and sunlight flowing like water through the shelves, touching his cheeks and turning his eyes golden the moment he pulled away to look down at her.

Eva had run away with trembling legs and a desperate need to turn around and ask him to do it again. She’d _forgotten_ her books.

She _never_ forgot her books.

They had never spoken of it. He pretended it away, and so Eva had done the same. He probably had no idea he’d been the first male she kissed.

They had carried him to his assigned chambers, deeming it more comfortable for him than the infirmary. Now, as she stared at his sleeping form, sitting at the edge of his bed, Eva recalled those moments with bittersweet nostalgia. They’d been so young, and they’d fought so much for nothing. It had felt so simple, then.

She could have lost him.

Eva touched his hand, surprised that he was so warm.

Her eyes looked up at him abruptly. Her mind screamed _fever_!

She quickly reached over, touching a hand to his forehead-

But- no, he wasn’t hot. He wasn’t feverish at all.

 _Calm down_ , she told herself. _Settle the fuck down, Ashryver._

Her movements must have woken him, for one second later, Ragnar was slowly opening his eyes. Eva tensed, watching him carefully.

But he only looked at her, for what it seemed an infinite moment.

And then he smirked.

Eva blinked.

The bastard was _smirking_.

“That’s a sad imitation of a smirk,” Eva said, deadpan. “You look like a clown, smiling like that.”

“Missed me?”

She shook her head at him. “I could push you off this bed right now. Do you honestly think that’s funny?”

His face softened, but he looked tired. So, so tired. Frighteningly so. His voice was but a croak, and it cracked whatever was left of her heart.

“Here,” Eva said, reaching for the glass of water the healer had left by his side. “Don’t sit up,” she warned, watching him sternly. “Let me help, for fuck’s sake.”

“Even now, you _have_ to scold me.”

Eva gave him a warning look. Ragnar was awfully cheerful for someone who had been in danger of perishing just hours ago.

It was just like him.

Gently, she reached behind his head, tilted it forward, and led the glass to his lips. He sipped once, twice, and then placed his head back down, sighing. Eva couldn’t take her eyes off him. She thought he might disappear.

“Are you in pain?” She had to ask.

“A little.”

She put the glass down. “Healers had to give you a sleeping tonic, so your body would recover faster, that’s why you feel groggy. And your arm, don’t move it. There are about a hundred stitches in there.”

“The ash arrow?” 

“I didn’t remove it right away,” Eva said tightly, struggling to keep her voice even. She didn’t want to imagine Ragnar’s body sagging against a tree, his face pale, and blood all over him ever again. “You could’ve bled out. I snapped it, and then… I brought you back here.”

She knew what he was going to ask her before he spoke. “Who was it? I can’t smell anything or anyone on me.”

“That’s the tonic,” Eva said, stalling. “You might not be able to taste foods for a couple of days, either-“

“Who was it, Ashryver?”

Eva closed her eyes momentarily. “Vanserra’s partner, the female you scented in his house. His scent was all over her. She was perched on a tree. They couldn’t have expected us, but the second she smelled us, she hid, and waited for the right opportunity to strike. She had a knife, Ragnar. She was ready to kill you.”

He paused.

No, he waited. Eva understood why – he was waiting for the rest of the story.

Eva shrugged. “So I killed her.”

He looked at her, fully awake now. Eva couldn’t take the intensity of that gaze, or the feelings it brought up, so she looked towards the window.

“Are you alright?”

She scoffed. “You’re the one that almost got killed, Lochan.”

He took her hand, surprising her. His touch sent tingles through her nerves. 

Eva’s eyes met his, as he said, “I’m sorry you had to do it. Thank you.”

She swallowed hard.

_It’s all my fault._

Eva retracted her hand, as if he had burned her. He might as well have. Ragnar frowned.

“You told me to take guards,” she whispered. “I didn’t listen.”

“You can’t think about that now.” 

“But I am thinking about it,” Eva said. “I could’ve prevented this. You almost _died_.”

She would not break.

She would not break.

She would not break.

Certainly not in front of Ragnar.

_You do not break._

“Ashryver,” Ragnar said firmly, “do you truly believe guards could have prevented an ash arrow from hitting me?”

“They could’ve found her-“

“ _Think_ , damn it!” He shouted, making her jump. “You saved my life, Ashryver. There was nothing we could do to prevent an attack. It could have happened any other day, anywhere else. It could have been you.” He closed his eyes. “ _Fuck_. It could have been _you_.”

Silence.

Eva didn’t know what to say. Guilt was tearing her apart, guilt for putting him in danger in the first place, guilt for not listening, for being childish and proud and foolish. No matter what he told her, no matter what anyone else told her, it _had_ been her fault.

She was a danger to him.

“You should rest,” she whispered, turning to stand.

“Where are you going?”

Eva hesitated, unable to stand, and turned the question in her head, knowing it meant something more coming from him. She paused, then said softly, “I couldn’t have lived with myself if you had been killed.”

Ragnar looked like he’d been slapped across the face.

“Nothing happened to me, Ashryver.”

“How can you say that?” Eva said. “Something _did_ happen to you. Look at you. You were falling off your horse, Ragnar, I had to pull you into mine, and even then, I could barely hold you up, and you were _bleeding_. You were bleeding so much, and I didn’t know if someone else was coming to hurt you. If we weren’t as close to home, you would’ve been-“ 

“You’re panicking,” he said, voice surprisingly soft, even if it did manage to cut her off. “Eva, stop. Stop.”

_Oh, Gods._

What would she have done, if Ragnar had perished in her arms?

_Oh, Gods, oh Gods._

He hadn’t called her _Eva_ in years.

Probably ever.

“Stop,” he whispered, touching her hand. “Calm down. Breathe. _Breathe_.”

She did.

_One, two, three._

_Four, five, six._

_He’s not dead he’s not dead he’s not dead._

_My- Ragnar is not dead._

Eva closed her eyes, lifting her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She had never felt so small her entire life. “I need to go,” she whispered.

“No,” he said.

“I did a terrible thing,” Eva continued. “I almost hurt you. I’ll hurt you.”

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Ragnar said, a bite to his voice.

Eva looked up at him, feeling tears burning her eyes.

_Don’t you dare leave me._

“I will ask you this once,” he said tightly, “and never again. _Stay_.”

“Okay,” Eva whispered through her tears. “Okay.”

***

Luna couldn’t sleep.

Her chambers felt awfully silent, and her mind was buzzing with adrenaline, her body electric with the day’s events.

When she was a child, she turned to the stars. When she was plagued with nightmares and afraid of the monsters under her bed, she asked the stars for guidance. She asked them to teach her how to tell the monsters to go away. Of course, as a youngling, she’d truly believed that they could help. 

But stars were always silent.

The only reassurance that they gave her was their presence.

So that kind of sucked.

She closed her eyes. Luna was surprised to see Seren there, smiling at her in her mind. Stubbornly, she opened her eyes, refusing to remember him. It would do no good to think of him or the things that Eva had told her that day. The things that Vanserra had told her.

_A dangerous and terrible place, filled with monstrosities._

Velaris hadn’t seemed like such a monstrosity. Neither had Seren.

_Stop thinking about him._

Luna felt a river of guilt rise at the bottom of her stomach. Leander’s death was much too fresh in her mind still, he was still too present for her to be thinking about another male. And though Leander would have wanted her to move on, Luna saw it as a betrayal – to be thinking about someone else.

Leander Westfall had been her first real love. Her first everything.

The stars had taken him away too soon.

It was hard to cope when everything reminded her of him. It was harder to cope when she admitted to herself that she couldn’t stop thinking about the strange winged male she’d met in that strange world. Grieving shouldn’t last a lifetime, but she’d been grieving for so long that Luna was afraid she’d forgotten how to feel anything else.

But Seren had made her smile, and Luna had missed smiling. 

She’d missed the bright spark in her mind at seeing something phenomenal. The world had looked so colourless and bland, that when she saw Velaris lit up in little bright lights, when she’d seen the glow of the Sidra and the cobbled streets… for one moment, she’d felt-

Okay.

More than okay. She had felt _alive_. Excited, vibrant, and colourful.

For one moment, she had forgotten that the stars had robbed her of the person she’d loved.

***

Luna had no memory of falling asleep.

But the impact was sudden. Painful.

And-

_Wet._

She thought she was drowning in her own dreams, carried off by an unseen current, dragging her to its dangerous depths. She hard a scream, which might have been her own.

And then she realized, as she broke the surface, that this was no dream at all. Luna was very much awake.

And very much sitting in a bath.

With a wide-eyed Seren staring at her.


	6. Chapter 6

Aidan had been sitting in his father’s library for the entire day and night. There was dust in places where dust should never even be. But for some unknown reason, he had a feeling that he was going to stumble into something important very, very soon.

Now, as to what that was… Aidan had no idea.

This library was as old as the House of Wind itself. Older. The windows still had centuries old stained glass, figurines of sirens and otherworldly creatures dancing with each other against the sunlight.

The young Archeron sat with his back against the shelf and sighed. There _had_ to be something he could do to help his brother. _Something_.

When both him and Seren had done the Blood Rite, Aidan had been the one to find the gate to other human lands back in Ramiel Mountain. It had been a strange, tiring, bloody day, and he’d simply stumbled across one of the caves inside the sacred mountain – he’d planned to sit and rest for a little while there, let his wounds dry and his eyes close for just a second. The moment he’d placed his wrists against the rocky, moss-covered wall, Aidan had felt a tingling in his veins, a feeling not unlike magic. One second, he’d been breathing Mountain air, the next-

He’d been in the sea.

Winter wind blew over his face. He stood in a sort of rock overhang, more of an alcove than anything else, sand underneath his feet, salt particles gathering in his wings, stinging the cuts on his lips. Noise – there had been so much noise, even if that beach had been deserted.

Aidan had looked to his right – roads. Paved roads and people and what Aidan had later learned were _cars_ – the humans’ favourite method of teleportation. He’d been stunned, too stunned to move, to stunned to make himself known to this strange world and its stranger people.

He’d been frightened, too.

So frightened that Aidan had turned right back, placed his hands back onto the rock in desperate urgency, hoping to the Goddess and all her children that it would work-

And it did.

He was back in the mountain, his blood thrumming, his heart beating out of his chest.

The next time he went back, Aidan had been careful enough to put a glamour over himself. He’d seen drawn pictures of humans before in books, he had descriptions from his mother’s past and her village, so he mimicked the round ears, the soft features. Wings were an obvious no-no. He’d walked among them, listening to their strange tongues, noting their clothing, their habits and quirks.

One thing was clear: these humans were nothing like the humans in Prythian. They were as different from them as they were to the Fae.

Aidan had heard of High Fae who’d abandoned Prythian to live in other human worlds. Stories that his father had told him that seemed to hold little to no truth – these Fae lived and thrived happily among humans, perhaps to escape War, though they lived in complete disguise, never revealing themselves. These humans were not aware of their existence.

He’d learned enough about that world to understand that magic didn’t belong in it. Well, certainly not the type of magic Aidan knew of. Those humans had created their own magic, in their cars, in their buildings. If there were other portals, Aidan had no way of knowing, except if he dared to cover all of that territory, though who could tell how vast it was?

Aidan thought of Seren and his anguish. The look on his brother’s face when he’d told Aidan about Luna had… destroyed Aidan’s heart a little. He wouldn’t wish to raise his brother’s hopes just to shatter them, but Aidan had always been the type of male that looked at obstacles as problems to be solved, not as stopping points.

Damned mating bonds.

If the stars wished him to keep his own sanity, then they would do well and good to leave him out of the mating bond equation for however long he lived.

***

There was water everywhere.

And his mate was now sitting _on_ him, hands at his chest, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Seren couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. Not with her so close. Not with her _literally on top of him._

Luna blinked, and looked around the tub – at the water that had pooled on the marbled ground.

“What,” she whispered to herself. “ _What_.”

And then her gaze turned to him slowly. Like she might be dreaming. Seren saw her face change the moment realization hit her in those short, three seconds: she had teleported herself here, _again_. She’d _fallen_ on his bathtub. On _him_. And Seren was very much naked.

Luna stumbled back in the tub, tripping in her own legs, on his, too, all the while murmuring to herself, “Oh, Goddess, oh, Goddess…”

Seren found his voice as Luna was trying to get out of the tub in a flutter of clingy fabric and wet hair. “ _Luna_?”

“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding looking at him at all costs, then placing her hands on his sink to steady herself. “Oh, Gods, what the _fuck_.”

Seren’s instinct was to move and comfort her – until he remembered what a terrible idea that would be since he was very much naked. “You’re here,” he said.

Her nightshift hung down to her knees, bright red, and Seren gave the Mother and the Cauldron and everything in between a great thanks that it wasn’t sheer.

“I’m here,” Luna whispered to the foggy mirror, condensation dripping down. “I’m here? Wait-“ She turned to him, brows furrowed, and then his naked chest and his wings were enough to make her shut her eyes and turn back around. “Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot you were naked, I-…”

“Let me get a towel,” Seren said, his voice uneven, his heart a loud drum in his chest.

_She is here she is here she is here._

Seren grabbed the nearest towel and stood, wrapping it around his waist. He watched her from the tub, dripping on his floor, her hair clinging to her face, dark gold against the red shift. He couldn’t believe she was in front of him.

He couldn’t believe she was there.

He couldn’t-

“Here.” He forced himself to move, stepping out of the tub in shaky legs, and rummaging his cabinet for more towels. Hesitating, he wrapped the largest one around her shoulders.

Luna opened her eyes at the feel of him, but Seren’s touch didn’t linger; in fact, he refrained from touching her or looking at her at all, afraid she might be somewhat of a dream or a hallucination.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Seren, I’m so-“

“If you apologize one more time, I _will_ get angry with you,” he said, smiling at her – like an _idiot_. His face softened. “Were you sleeping?”

“Yes,” Luna groaned. “I was close to, at least. I don’t understand. This never happened before. Why am I…” She didn’t continue.

Instead, she turned to him. Seren almost wanted to back away then, with her dark eyes scanning his face for answers, with the sheer force of her presence that seemed too much for this tiny bathing chamber. Too much for him.

“… what?” He asked with a little hesitance, meeting her eyes.

Luna blinked, watching his hands, how they closed into fists, noticing the way Seren retracted a little when she’d turned, noticing the tension in his jaw.

“Am I frightening you?” She asked, a little horrified.

“N-No,” he assured her without a moment’s pause. “No, of course not. I wasn’t expecting you, is all. I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize,” he whispered.

Luna pulled the towel closer to her body, wiping the water that dripped from her nose on her shoulder. He couldn’t read her eyes. He couldn’t read her at all.

He was standing there like a fool who’d never seen a female before.

_Cauldron help me._

“Nice hum… bath,” she muttered, turning her eyes to his tub. “More like a pool.”

He laughed, a little nervously. “Gotta have space for the wings.”

“Ah.”

She was trying very hard not to look at him or at his wings, instead looking around the room. To distract himself, Seren gave Luna a towel for her hair, as he said, “I’m going to get dressed.”

She breathed a laugh. “Yes, that would be good. I’ll…no, no, it’s fine, stay. I’ll be… there.”

When she shut the door gently, Seren ran a hand through his hair, every nerve in his body straining. He wrapped his wings instinctively around himself, as if that would hide him from her. He was fucked. Hugely. Infinitely.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

_Fuck._

***

She-

Had _dropped_ -

Into his _bath_.

He’d been so naked. So, so naked.

Luna shut her eyes tightly, feeling foolish with the whole situation, feeling even more foolish to be standing in the middle of his chambers in her wet gown with a stupid towel around her shoulders.

_Why_ was this happening?

Why was she losing control over her own abilities? 

Why _here_ , _again_ , and not somewhere else?

She shook her head, reminding herself to keep breathing. Seren could probably hear every shift of her heart and each missing beat, so Luna attempted to level her breathing, to look as normal as she could as he came out of the bath, cotton trousers and a simple tunic hiding everything she’d seen in the bath.

It was a sight she was not bound to forget so soon.

“I have clothes,” Seren said. And then quickly continued, “For you, I mean. Of course I have clothes,” he breathed a laugh. “Hum, you can wear them and I’ll get a fire burning to dry your shift.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to…”

“You’ll freeze,” he said softly.

Indeed – she’d begun to shake, and Seren hadn’t failed to notice. Luna didn’t know how she felt about wearing some stranger’s clothing, but she had no other choice. It was either accepting or wait in drenched fabric until she could go back home.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

He handed her a pair of dark clothes that were similar to his. This close, he smelled of lavender soap. She couldn’t help but breathe it in as inconspicuously a she could – lavender, cotton, and summer air, intertwined with something deeper, like earth and flames.

His dark hair hung over his eyes.

And – Goddess above, he looked handsome. More handsome than the last time Luna had seen him. More handsome than her memory had portrayed him.

_Stop it._

“May I-?” Luna pointed to his bath chamber.

“Yes, of course.”

She practically _ran_ there, as if she might escape his handsomeness and the blasphemous thoughts that came with it.

Luna shut the door and stared at the water pooling on the ground, her back against the wall, his clothes against her heart.

_Why am I here?_

Something was beckoning her there, a tug deep within like a wolf on a leash constantly pushing and pulling. Except that leash was closer to cuffs than anything else; she couldn’t escape it. While she took in her surroundings, she felt her body give in to exhaustion, her head swimming, nausea rising. Teleporting this far cost her greatly, and it might be a few hours until Luna could go back – until then, dawn would come, and if her fathers or anyone else found her missing again, they’d be worried.

Luna wiped herself with his towel quickly, and put on his clothes. She couldn’t help but look at herself in the mirror. Between the waterdrops, her golden hair was beginning to curl, her brown eyes looked tired and frighteningly bright. Luna had to find a way to make this _stop_.

She wiped at his floor mechanically, feeling ridiculous. Luna was stalling, because there were bubbles in her stomach and stars in her eyes and her chest felt too tight for her beating heart.

When everything was clean, she realized that she had no other reasons to keep being a coward, so she opened the door.

Seren sat on the ground, two cups of hot tea with platters of cheese, bread and butter on a tray, a fire burning in front of him. The last time she’d been here, Luna hadn’t noticed the beautiful hearth and mantel, nor the pictures that sat there.

She placed her nightshift on a chair by the fire to dry, her eyes instinctively moving to those paintings – portraits. She blinked at the sight of a winged female sitting with Seren in the biggest portrait of them all. The first thing Luna noticed about her was her beauty: dark hair coiled in a severe looking braid at the back of her head, and alluring blue eyes. She had the body of a warrior. A lover, perhaps?

Her stomach dropped.

She sensed him watching her, but Luna was too entranced by the paintings and their colours and their realism to pay much mind. The next portrait was small, a little square depicting a smiling babe in someone’s arms – he had Seren’s dark hair.

“That’s my cousin,” Seren said softly. He was beside her. Luna hadn’t even heard him rise and approach her. He touched the first portrait, smiling fondly. “Otherwise known as my insufferable best friend.”

_Not_ a lover then.

Luna despised the amount of satisfaction that spread through her body, and aggressively ignored it.

“And that’s my younger brother, when he was a few months old.”

“They’re beautiful,” Luna said. 

“My mother painted them,” Seren explained. “Throughout the years, she accumulated thousands of these – little memories that she wanted to keep. I asked her for those that were dearest to me.”

“That’s… a wonderful idea,” she murmured, turning her eyes to others. A beautiful male caught her eye, staggering, almost, in his smile, in the violet eyes and midnight hair. She knew immediately who it was.

“My father,” Seren said.

“He’s…” Luna almost choked, “…wearing a crown. So you _are_ a prince?”

Seren chuckled softly, the sound making her want to drift closer to him. “No, I’m just me. My father is High Lord of the Night Court.”

Luna blinked. “So, not a prince, but something very close to that. You’re quite humble, Seren.”

His eyes sparkled with humour as Luna looked over her shoulder at him. She couldn’t help but smile back, his happiness contagious.

He truly was beautiful.

Not in the frivolous, simplistic sense of the word, but… beautiful like breathing in sea air for the first time in months. Beautiful like coming across the first bloom of spring after a hard winter. Beautiful like simple happiness found in everyday life: fresh daisies at the breakfast table, new bedsheets, a sunlit morning…

Beautiful like familiar things.

Leander had been beautiful, too.

Instantly, her body went cold. From one moment to the other, Seren’s clothes, his scent, felt very wrong against her skin. She turned her eyes away so he wouldn’t catch the pain that lived in her soul.

“What does a High Lord do?”

“Keep the peace, mostly,” Seren answered. “Protect the land.” His voice became thoughtful then, as he stared at his father’s portrait. “You know, for a very long time, the other Courts didn’t know about Velaris.”

Luna’s attention picked up at that. “The other Courts?” She asked, as if she didn’t already know.

“Prythian has seven ruling Courts,” Seren explained. “Night, Day, Dawn, Summer, Spring, Autumn and Winter.”

Solar and Seasonal Courts – just like the book that Eva had showed Luna.

_A place filled with monstrosities._

Luna swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat.

Seren continued, oblivious to her thoughts, “In the South stands the border – where the human lands are.”

“Humans?” Luna turned to Seren, then took a slight step back, realizing how close they were. “There are humans here?”

Seren nodded once. “Our relations with the humans had once been quite strained. Nowadays, there’s peace.” He must have seen something in Luna’s eyes, for his brows furrowed slightly, and he asked her, “What’s wrong?”

Luna thought of Leander’s very human smile. His very human mind.

And his very human health.

“Nothing,” she murmured. “I knew a human, once.”

Seren’s eyes softened, as if he understood. He opened his mouth to speak, but Luna couldn’t hear it, whatever it was. Not from him, not from anyone. She couldn’t have anyone else opening up that wound – she already did that herself everyday.

Instead, she glanced to the platter of cheese and bread on the tray.

Seren asked, “Not a cheese person?”

“I’m very much a cheese person,” Luna declared. “I’m so very pleased.”

Seren’s mouth quirked into a smile. Luna tried not to look at it too much as they sat down. “I’ve been lucky in my guesses, then,” Seren said.

Luna sipped her tea quietly, crossing her legs. The warmth of the fire seeped into her bones, but memories were icebergs – there was always more ice underneath, waiting to chill her to the bone, and it wasn’t like Luna couldn’t ignore the freezing waters surrounding those memories.

Still.

The tea was warm, and she hadn’t been warm in a long while.

“Why didn’t anyone know about Velaris?” She asked.

Seren hesitated.

Luna quirked an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said. “Is it like, a forbidden topic?”

“None of that,” Seren breathed a quiet, slightly nervous laugh. He seemed to decide she was trustworthy then, for he continued, “Centuries ago, Prythian was not a safe place. War after war after war almost destroyed the continent. Humans wanted us dead, we wanted them dead, everybody wanted _someone_ dead. So my ancestors built Velaris. It would rise to be a city of peace, where no outside danger could breach its walls. It would keep the people safe, free from the nightmares the rest of Prythian was living. My ancestors vowed to keep it a secret. And it worked – for a very long time, the Courts saw Night as a place of nightmares – that was the image the old High Lords wanted them to see.”

“So their enemies would stay away,” Luna murmured.

“Exactly. All to hide the gem that was Velaris. Our safe place. Our true home.” Seren paused. “The Night Court is not perfect. My family works everyday to keep the peace, to keep the dream that is Velaris alive. But it _is_ home.”

Luna lowered her eyes, her head swimming with theories.

This was not a place of monstrosities, nor nightmares. Luna had been right all along. What Viktor Vanserra had written in his books, the stories passed down in his family, were all wrong. He knew the Night Court for the vile nightmare Seren’s ancestors had made it out to be.

Luna looked up at Seren, her mouth forming the next question, but before the words could fall from her lips, something held her back. Asking him about the Vanserra family and its connection to the Night Court would lead to questions from him, questions that Luna wouldn’t know how to answer. Or she did, but the answers weren’t exactly pleasant.

_My family thinks your Court might one day invade my world._

_They also think you might kill us, or something._

No, she couldn’t ask it. Not now, at least.

“How did the other Courts come to know Velaris?” She asked instead.

Seren smiled again. He did that a lot, and Luna desperately wished he wouldn’t. Her heart jumped whenever the corner of his mouth lifted. “That is one long, tenuous story. I’ll tell you next time.”

_Next time._

Which implied they would see each other again.

Luna would be a fool not to admit that the prospect made her happy – to see him again. No matter how wrong it was, that feeling was as real as her being comforted by his presence; as real as the gentle happiness of sitting with him on the rug, in front of the fire, eating bread with cheese.

She’d always been a terrible liar – especially to herself.

Seren seemed to realize only then the weight of those words. He cleared his throat, his smile turning a little shy. Luna’s own smile only widened at that – it was endearing how her presence seemed to unsettle him. Endearing and quite amusing, for he was three times her size and had terrifying-looking wings. He was the one that was supposed to unsettle her.

And he did. Just not in the way she’d expected him to.

But his wings - he didn’t glamour them away this time. They folded neatly behind his back.

“I mean, I didn’t wish to imply…”

“Well,” Luna shrugged, “if it keeps happening, it seems you’ll really have no other choice but to tell me that story.”

Seren’s voice was soft, “It’ll be a pleasure to tell you.”

Luna watched him sip his tea, marvelling at how easy talking to him was. She wanted to keep doing it forever.

“You speak weird.”

He almost choked on his tea. “I speak weird?” He chuckled. “ _You_ speak weird.”

Luna grinned. “Why do you think we speak the same tongue?”

“I do have my theories.”

“Do tell.”

“Well,” Seren said, placing his empty cup down, “this world, this _universe_ , even, is too old and too vast for us to know everything. Our worlds might have once been one, Luna.”

“Yes,” she said softly, gaze travelling to the crackling flames. “I thought that too.”

“Some things evolve until they are unrecognizable,” Seren murmured, following her gaze. “Others stay untouched.”

“I don’t think anything ever stays untouched,” Luna whispered. “I think we are everchanging, and our world is, too. We are products of change.” She bit the inside of her lip, thinking on it. Then she said, eyes unfocused, “I am not the same as I was yesterday. Or two minutes ago. Neither is the sky. Neither are those flames. And neither are you.”

The comforting silence around them endured for a few moments. Either Seren was too polite to interrupt her, or he genuinely wanted to listen.

“I wonder why we tend to reject change when we are made of it.”

Seren looked at her, his sky-blue eyes soft in the firelight. “I never thought of it that way.”

Luna smiled. “There is your deep insight for the night. You’re welcome.”

Seren matched his smile to hers. “I think we regret change because we fear the unknown, and change brings unknown things.” He smiled wider. “It brings strangers that teleport to your bed, your bath…”

Luna hid her face between her knees. “Don’t…”

Seren chuckled. “It’s all good. I’m sorry it got you drenched, though. That couldn’t have been fun for you.”

Luna shrugged, lifting her head, feeling her cheeks warm. “Next time, I’ll be sure to land on anything else but you.”

“Uff, well, pray it be me rather than the floor.”

“True. How comfortable are those wings?” She asked. Then cocked her head to the side, assessing. “How… long?”

Seren raised his brows. And then one of his wings spread, a breeze kissing her cheek. Luna’s eyes slowly widened as she took him, and those wings of his, in. They were just as she remembered: dark as ink, so dark that they seemed to swallow the light from the flames. Tiny little purple veins were pathways that crossed and drifted apart, like constellations in a great night sky.

They were beautiful.

Even the talons that had looked terrifying to her – those too were beautiful in their menace. Luna almost felt compelled to reach a hand and touch it – they were close, shoulder to shoulder, all she had to do was lift her finger – but she closed her hand at the last minute, thinking to herself that if she had wings, she wouldn’t want a stranger to be touching them.

Slowly, the wing retracted, folding next to the other at his back.

Enchanting.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Luna was so lost that she only noticed his hand when it rose up to touch her face. But she didn’t flinch, because his hand hesitated before brushing her cheek, letting her know what he intended to do. Waiting for her to pull back. When Luna didn’t move, Seren lifted a finger and ran it gently over her cheekbone.

His eyes drew her in.

It couldn’t be real: how she felt as if she’d known him for years, instead of only two nights. Years did not become days, and Luna would do good to remember that.

Some other time.

His hand was warm.

He was warm.

A gentle flame.

Seren said, “You had two eyelashes there.” He pulled his finger back, and Luna took a much-needed breath. Seren showed it to her, and said, “You get two wishes.”

“Two wishes?” Luna asked.

“It’s a… call it a local tradition, when you catch an eyelash, you make a wish, then blow on your finger so it can fly, so you put that wish out into the universe for it to become true.” A pause. A dizzyingly beautiful grin. “It makes no sense, I know.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Luna murmured, trying not to lower her eyes to his mouth.

Seren gestured with his chin. “Then go on. Make your wishes.”

Luna looked down at his finger, at the two little golden lashes on it.

If this kind of magic existed, Luna would ask for impossible things.

Truly impossible things.

But change was inevitable. And change wasn’t always reversable.

“I wish for-“

“You can’t tell me,” Seren said, “or it won’t come true.”

Luna couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. “Oh? Alright then.”

“Close your eyes, tell it to yourself thrice. And then blow them away.”

Luna did as he told her. Her eyes fell shut.

She wanted the first face she saw when she closed her eyes to be Leander’s.

But it wasn’t.

It was hard not to hate herself because of it.

She said her two wishes one time, a second time, and a third, silently to herself. She hung on to them for a bit, like doves in her hands, ready to take flight. And then she blew.

Her eyes opened to see Seren watching her. “Has a wish ever come true for you?” She murmured.

Seren’s eyes did not turn away. “One did.” He swallowed hard, then looked to the flames. “Once.”

“Won’t you tell me?” She grinned, and elbowed him gently. “Or will it curse you for a thousand years?”

He smiled a crooked smile, then shook his head as if he truly found humour in her words. He looked at her like there was nothing he’d rather do more than sit by the fire, speaking of dreams and wishes with a strange girl who’d invaded his life out of the blue.

There was a short pause, as he considered his words.

And then:

“Change.”

“Hm?”

“That’s what I wished for,” Seren murmured. “I wished for change.”


	7. Chapter 7

When the healer arrived, she screamed.

Ragnar Lochan looked as pale as death, though that clearly hadn’t stopped him from trying to leave his bed, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

“My Lord,” the young healer said, approaching him warily. “My Lord, you _must_ stay down. Your Lady mother is just down the hall still asleep, my Lord, if you need her-”

“It’s not mother I need,” Ragnar said, his tone distant as he tried to push covers off him with the little strength he had left. “The Princess has left. Eva has left. Let me go to her at once.”

“My Lord.” It was the healer’s turn to pale. “I… must tell you that Her Highness has explicitly ordered me to… not allow you to leave this room. I received the same orders from your parents.” A pause. “And all your siblings.”

Ragnar sat, body sagging, and tilting to the side. “You don’t understand…”

His vision blurred, and the young Lord felt himself lose consciousness again. Ragnar could still feel the tingling of Eva’s hand touching his, the memory of her running her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep fresh in his mind. He thought he’d wake up to see her. But Eva had left.

And Ragnar knew exactly why.

That’s what frightened him. He _knew_ what Eva had left him for, what she was going to do.

He felt the healer’s cold hands at his back, settling him back down onto the mattress. Everything felt cold to the touch, though his eyes burned.

“You’ve a fever,” he heard the healer say. “Nothing to be worried about, my Lord.”

“Eva,” he whispered.

But Eva didn’t answer.

***

“Aedion,” Lorcan said lowly. “This is a terrible idea.”

The Prince held his reins a little tighter as he looked over to Lorcan. The Lord of Perranth was right, and Aedion knew it, just as he’d known it that very morning when his daughter had burst through the parlour in her riding leathers, declaring she was going back to pay Viktor Vanserra a visit.

His daughter would not have a no for an answer. If Aedion had tried to stop her, Eva would find a way to venture out on her own, in secret, and Aedion wouldn’t have that. So now they rode together, Eva a few paces in front of them, unaware of their conversation, and Lorcan by his side, throwing Eva’s back some worried glances.

Aedion’s heart ached in a way it had never before.

What his daughter was forced to do… though Eva would not speak of it, he knew, as Lysandra did, too, that it would haunt Eva forever. That blood would never leave her hands. Aedion just wished he could erase everything from her mind, feel that pain himself, and grant his daughter the peace she deserved.

His little one – almost murdered.

“We both know Viktor Vanserra has left,” Lorcan hissed. “There is no way in the seven hells that that horseshit remained here.”

“I know that,” Aedion muttered back, his eyes at his daughter’s back. “But she is intent on finding him, and find traces of information about the place Luna teleported to. I’ve got to let her have this, Lorcan.” The Prince blinked back tears, shaking his head to himself.

“She’s not alright,” Lorcan whispered. “Of course she’s not.”

“None of us are,” Aedion said. “Your son almost got killed. _My daughter_ almost got killed. But we weren’t there. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for them.”

Lorcan was sorry for many things.

Including the fact that he didn’t get to be the one to squeeze the life out of the female who’d shot his son, who’d almost killed a part of him. His son, the quietest of all his children, the most observant, the one who’d always tugged at his sleeve in the middle of the night because sleep had always been his biggest enemy.

And Eva – who had always been like a daughter to him. Eva, who’d trusted Lorcan to teach her to swim in the lake, who had played with his sons and held his youngest daughter in her arms.

Thinking about what could have happened to them both…

Rage. It was pure, undiluted rage and hatred in both the Lord and Prince’s eyes as they approached Viktor Vanserra’s cottage.

Aedion was right.

If this was what it took for Eva and Ragnar to heal, then Lorcan would follow them. He’d follow his children and his family to the ends of the earth if needed.

And he’d do it proudly.

***

“I’d rather you stay and keep watch,” Eva told them both as they dismounted. Arrows were strapped to her back, seven knifes holstered on her waist and thighs. It still didn’t feel like enough.

Her father only stared at her, though Eva knew there were words – and tears – ready to be unleashed. She touched his hand, and assured him as best as she could. As much as she could.

There was no one here. 

Eva was not a fool, and Viktor Vanserra wasn’t one either. She’d known that Viktor would bail as soon as Eva ripped his partner’s throat out, because there was no way in the seven hells that Vanserra wouldn’t see Eva coming for him, too.

She’d known he wouldn’t be here. But Eva wasn’t here for Vanserra, exactly.

While her father and Lorcan stayed to keep watch, Eva entered the cottage. Disgust tore at her insides as Viktor’s days-old scent hit her nostrils. The fact that she’d been charmed by him, flattered by his smiles…

Everything was as it had been when Eva and Ragnar had first come through: the same comforting furniture, the same old fabrics.

She heard paws on the wooden floor. A big dog jumped at her in excitement, and Eva was startled enough that she almost reached for a knife, only to realize seconds later that it was the same dog she’d seen lounging by Vanserra’s hearth that morning.

“He left you here?” She said, touching the hound’s head. His tail wiggled, happiness in his beady eyes as he thought that someone had come for him. The hound was big enough that, on his hind legs, he could almost reach her full height. The dog’s snout roamed her body, looking for food.

He’d left the damned dog behind.

One more reason why Eva would tear the bastard apart limb by limb.

“We’re going home soon,” Eva murmured to him, scratching behind his floppy ear. “You’ll be alright.”

_You’ll be alright._

Eva couldn’t tell how many times she’d told Ragnar that the day before, while she tried to keep him steady in front of her on the horse. And yet, he hadn’t been alright. He’d almost been killed.

That night, Eva had sat by him without sleeping, checking his temperature. He’d been running a low fever, which she treated by running cold, wet rags over his face. Sometimes he’d murmured her name.

Not Eva, nor Princess, as he liked to call her when he wished to taunt her.

But the only thing he called her. The name only Ragnar used for her: _Ashryver. Ashryver, are you here?_

_I’m here, Ragnar._

Her journey here had confirmed exactly what Eva had told Aelin: Vanserra was in on it. If he wasn’t also guilty, then what reason would he have to run?

She searched through stacks of handwritten papers that held no information she desired, the hound close on her heels, most likely afraid of being left behind again.

“What did he call you anyway?” She said distractedly as she opened and threw books here and there. “Probably something terribly pretentious, uh? Don’t worry, you’ll get a new name and a permanent home.”

She ripped hardcovers of books, dust falling at the tip of her nose. She searched for other scents, trying to find something that Vanserra might have forgotten in his haste to leave. As she did, anger began to build.

Layer after layer, as Vanserra’s putrid scent got stronger with each possession she touched, it clung to her like a disease.

Ragnar’s hopeless eyes searching for her. His mouth forming the shape of her name, as if he’d scream her – not to call for help, no, but to warn her, to tell her to run.

He’d always be thinking of her first.

He’d _told_ her to take guards.

He’d _warned_ her.

And she hadn’t listened.

_Why don’t I ever listen?_

She destroyed her way through his books, hoping for loose notes or handwritten reminders, or hidden hints. Any clues she might find about this place called the Night Court: family tree, diaries, journals, memoirs, trinkets. Any tracks she could follow to know where Vanserra had hidden his cowardly ass so she could find him and snap his spine like that of a book.

Ragnar’s body tilting to the side on the horse.

Ragnar’s breathing becoming shallow.

His bloody arm. The scent of ash burning her nose.

Ragnar kissing her between bookshelves.

Rip, rip, rip.

She kicked a coffee table and it shattered against the wall, wood splinters falling into the ground. The hound backed away from her, whining under his breath, but Eva didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. 

She wouldn’t stop until she could kill Vanserra.

Ragnar tilting her chin so she met his eyes.

The way he looked at her after… after everytime she whispered his name underneath the sheets.

Ragnar taunting her, laughing at her. Laughing _with_ her.

_Ragnar. Ragnar. Ragnar_.

Another room. She tilted the mattress and threw it against the window, shattering glass. Eva snatched clothes and boxes and whatever else she got her hands on, and with every second that passed with her finding absolutely nothing, her rage only grew to the point where Eva could no longer breathe and could no longer see right. She heard her father call for her, but he was background noise, everything was insignificant, meaningless, pointless, unless she found what she was looking for, unless she found a way to redeem herself and atone for what she had done.

Ragnar’s mouth brushing her neck, his scent mixing with hers as if they were always meant to be one.

_Don’t you dare leave me._

Oh-

Oh.

_Why are you looking at me like that?_

_You don’t like me looking at you?_

_I like you looking at me, but you’ve never looked at me like that._

_Like what, Ashryver?_

Eva ripped the two buttons of her collar open, her breath coming out in pants. She closed her eyes against the black spots that danced in her vision.

_Don’t you dare leave me._

_Okay._

She kept going.

She had to keep going.

Eva slammed the wardrobe doors open. Empty. Sunlight streamed through the white lace curtains, creating patterns on the ebony wood. Patterns similar to those she’d seen on Ragnar’s cheek, one time in the parlour of Caraverre, when Elide and Lorcan and all of the Lochan clan had been visiting. He’d been sitting by the windows, mid-afternoon, and the sunlight had kissed his skin through the curtains in such a way that Eva’s fingers had itched to grab her sketchbook and sit by him for a few hours, trying to mimic his lines and features. She’d watched the little circles and ribbons of light on his face, as she’d told him, “Do you know why we hate each other so much?”

Ragnar had drawled, after taking a sip of his unsweetened tea, “I have an idea. But do tell. I would love to hear your theory.”

Eva had smirked, pretending the sight of him in the sun hadn’t made her heart ache in the worst way. “It’s not because we’re different, Lochan,” she’d said to him. “It’s because we’re so similar, you and I.”

_It’s because we’re so similar._

“Eva.”

Eva fell to the floor in a river of uncontrollable sobs.

Her weapons clanked against each other as she let her head fall between her knees. The hound tried to lick her hands. The world had to stop spinning eventually. He heart had to stop feeling as if it would burst inside her chest.

_Oh._

Her father’s arms were around her, but Eva could hear nothing past her cries and her attempts to catch her breath.

Oh, Goddess. _Oh, Goddess._

She’d been so foolish. So blind.

So ignorant. So fucking daft.

“I’m here,” Aedion was saying. “Sweetheart, I’m here. Let it out.”

None of her cries would erase the fact that she’d spent her entire life being totally and incomprehensively mistaken. No amount of rage could be used to erase the fact that Eva had been oblivious and _wrong_.

“Papa,” she managed to let out.

Aedion wrapped her up in his arms as if she were a child again, the Prince’s body a steady rock that she could hold on to.

Oh, and she held on.

She clung to her father for dear life, for the conclusion that Eva had come to then was nothing but a riptide – water coming in from both sides, dragging her down, down, down.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

“It’s alright,” Aedion whispered to her. “It’s alright, my darling girl.”

“He’s my mate,” she cried. “He’s my mate.”

Through her tears, Eva opened her eyes to the sunlight – to see the entire room wrecked. Broken pieces, furniture shattered, as if a hurricane had let itself in. She’d trashed the cottage.

“He’s my mate,” she whispered.

“I know,” Aedion whispered back, holding on tight. “I know, sweetheart.”

The person she’d been running from her entire life had been the person she’d always wanted to run to.

Ragnar was her mate.

***

Oren’s wings could not keep up.

No matter how urgent, no matter how determined he was to reach Orynth by nightfall, he knew he’d be good as dead if he continued.

Pain – it was real, tortuous pain tearing at his chest then, as he soared through mountains and riverbends and forests and hills in the heat of the afternoon sun. Pain as he realized that he was, indeed, too late.

He’d failed his heroes.

The people who saved his world.

Ragnar Lochan was presumed dead, and Oren could have prevented it if he’d been faster, and stronger.

His wings lifted, and the wind carried him through bright green woods, his eyes scurrying the trees for a safe place to land – preferably a place with water. But his body gave in.

Before he could properly land, Oren lost his grip on his abilities, and he shifted back into himself mid-descent, and he fell, fell, fell, through leaves and branches and twigs and-

Into tall grasses.

Oren rolled over in pain, eyes opening to bright blue skies that were shaking slightly, a mix between the heat waves and his own dizzy mind. He took a long, wavering breath and checked for injuries. For a few seconds, he laid there, little grey feathers falling on his face as he tried to move. Oren’s heart dropped to his stomach, thinking he’d broken his spine – but after a pause, he was able to push himself up with little to no pain, just a slight uncomfortable ache.

The first thing his father had taught him when he discovered he had an animal form was how to fall, lest his wings gave out. Those lessons had served him well.

Oren looked around. He knew by the look of these woods that he was near Orynth’s walls. Well – he _would_ be very near if he still managed to have his wings. By foot, he was at least a day’s journey away from the Palace still. He let out a frustrated snarl, brushing fallen leaves off his clothes, and began walking through the forest. He could smell the water, hear the river moving through boulders in the distance, though it would take a few miles to get there.

The young male swallowed down; his throat was dry. He had no other choice.

It took him about an hour of walking, but soon enough he reached the water. It was not a river nor a stream but a lagoon that seemed to spread for miles on end. Oren sat down by the rocks, his feet on the water, his breathing shallow.

He lacked the training necessary to withstand all this travelling. He’d been a farmer his entire life just like his father and his mother, and though that required strength and stamina, plus countless hours in the sun, it didn’t quite prepare him for what he’d have to face, travelling on his own to Terrasen all the way from Doranelle.

Gods, he was tired.

And he hated that he was feeling sorry for himself when other people were in danger.

Oren could not fathom. He could not imagine what would drive those males to wish to hurt the royals and the lords of Erilea simply because they were half-breeds. Even the word itself made his insides turn to mush. _Half-breed_ sounded like hatred in a word. He despised the thought of it.

The Immortal Lands had been peaceful his entire life. Doranelle was seemingly peaceful. Oren was never pushed aside for being a bastard. The people of his village knew his story, but they had never called him such an ugly word as _bastard_ , not to his face, nor to his back. But just because it hadn’t happened to him, it didn’t mean that such a thing did not happen to others.

Hatred was everywhere. And it came in all forms.

It could come in smiles and in fake kindness. It could come in seemingly innocent questions. It could come in gossip.

Oren knew that the only way to fight it was to take action.

He needed to reach Orynth. And Gods, he needed to do it fast.

Slowly, he took a drink from the lagoon, taking a second to wash his face, his hair. His reflection stared back at him in ripples. His eyes were exhausted.

The water glowed.

Oren furrowed his brows, looking past his reflection to the depths within. He breathed the warm air into his lungs, eyes searching the surface. It looked like… silver.

Like stars underneath the water.

On reflex, Oren reached under.

Half a second later, he realized his mistake – but realization came half a second too late.

A slimy hand wrapped around his wrist, and _yanked_.

Oren growled, and instinctively grabbed for the boulder at the edge of the lagoon to keep himself there. Oren was pulled into the water, half of his body clinging to the rocks, the grass, anything to keep him from being drowned.

The creature resurfaced, and Oren only got a sideways look at it. Scaley, grey-tinged skin and delicately pointed ears that ended in needle-points. Black, beady eyes, endless black holes, purple lips with needle-like teeth. A tail flopping back and forth underneath the water.

_No. Gods, no._

Oren snarled at it, his Fae instincts driving him to attack. But he was exhausted, and the creature was strong, too strong. It ripped Oren’s arm off the slippery boulder, and in doing so, Oren heard a crack – bone shattering.

His scream was swallowed by the waters.

***

Andrik Lochan touched his brother’s cheek, then his forehead. “I told you to stop moving, Ragnar. You’ll rip your stitches.”

Ragnar blinked very, very slowly. Thankfully, his temperature had lowered significantly, but he was still being watched closely, for he was not out of the woods just yet. He’d done his research – Andrik knew that ash took a while to leave one’s system, and as the poison liked to linger, so did the fevers, the body’s favourite way to combat it. The healer had to force down Ragnar’s throat a sleeping tonic, leaving his younger brother in a dazed, drunk-like state. As long as Ragnar was drowsy, he would let himself be taken care of.

Elide had been standing by her son’s side all morning, brushing back his hair, caressing his cheek. Andrik had to physically remove her from the room, so Ragnar could get some sleep. Now, during the afternoon, she’d managed to sneak back in, but Andrik had reassured her that Ragnar was being taken care of.

She hadn’t slept, and needed the rest. Convincing her to leave had taken the small amount of energy that Andrik had left.

“You have never been an authoritarian figure to me,” Ragnar drawled, his voice slurred due to the tonic.

Andrik smiled slightly. “Has anyone, ever?” He sighed softly. “And if that’s your way to tell me to fuck off, brother, you’re not in luck. I’ve been told to fuck off my entire life and I have not been seen to listen once.”

“Tell me what’s happened,” Ragnar asked, closing his eyes momentarily.

“Ferran is in Perranth, dealing with everything, while mother and father are here. Andrea was just here with Asterin, they seemed pretty close. _Pretty close.”_

“I know what you mean,” Ragnar whispered, slightly exasperated. “Move on.”

“Eldon and Howlan took the job of amusing mother, she’s pretty bummed out that you’re stuck in bed.”

Ragnar snorted weakly. “You sure do sound _bummed out_ too.”

“Eh,” said Andrik. “Just a little.”

“Eva?”

That’s what he really wanted to know.

Andrik sighed heavily once again. He couldn’t expect Ragnar to forget, nor could he hope that the tonic would prevent Ragnar from worrying. But Andrik also knew that he couldn’t keep the truth from his brother.

“She went to search for Vanserra.”

Ragnar led a hand to his face. “I fucking knew it.”

“Calm down.”

“That girl,” Ragnar lamented, “she is to be my most valued torture device, I swear to all fucking Gods and all their fucking children.”

Andrik flinched – he had a notion that if his brother weren’t literally drugged, he’d be screaming his lungs out and kicking furniture around the room.

“She is going to get herself killed,” Ragnar continued.

“Eva?” Andrik drawled. “We are not speaking of the same person.”

“Get her back,” Ragnar said. “Get her ass in here right now.”

“I’m not sure you know who you’re talking to, I mean, do I look like the right Lochan to demand anything of Eva Ashryver?” Andrik blinked. “And neither are you in your right mind to demand anything of her. She is trying to protect you, Ragnar.”

“Exactly-“

“ _Let_ her. Eva is a big girl. The bravest soul, and the bravest heart to go with it,” Andrik said. “Her heart is set on revenge, which I get. You know, I’m _me_ , and right about now I would love to tear that assfuck’s head off his shoulders for what he tried to do to you.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Listen. Eva is fine. Father and Aedion tagged along to assure it. Please, _please_ , try to get it out of your mind, alright? We spoke, and I asked her to be safe – if not for her sake, for I know her recklessness as much as you do, - then for yours and for every single one of us. And she agreed.” When Ragnar simply stared at the ceiling, Andrik murmured, “She’ll be here soon, Ragnar.”

Ragnar was silent for a long time. And then, “Did you really say _assfuck_?”

Andrik led a hand to his forehead.

“Goddess,” Ragnar muttered, eyes fluttering closed. “What in the seven bloody hells is an _assfuck_?”

Andrik sat by while his brother slept again. 

He stayed for a few moments longer, checking Ragnar’s temperature, occasionally running a cold towel over his brother’s forehead. And then the door to Ragnar’s chambers opened.

Of course Andrik had scented her long before she’d stepped inside.

Rhiannon Havilliard Crochan was wearing his clothes. In her haste to get to Orynth in the night Eva and Ragnar were attacked, she hadn’t brought any.

Andrik thought he’d be well done with his feelings for Rhiannon, but he’d been miserably wrong. After the first two times of her turning him down, Andrik had fully stepped away, and told himself that he would never, ever again let his feelings for her be known, for he was frightened that he would lose her completely, and more importantly, that she would loathe him for it.

But she was here.

And she had slept in his bed the night before.

And moreover, she’d held his hand through the most painful hours.

Andrik would not allow himself to hope, nor to think anything between them changed. Despite everything, Rhiannon’s heart was warm for everyone. She’d done him a kindness. That is all.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” he softly said. “Nice trousers.”

“Some Lochan Lordling designed them, apparently.”

“Oh?” Andrik said. “Talented male.”

Rhiannon smiled, but Andrik could not return it. Whatever he’d told his brother to calm him, he too was worried for Eva. He was worried that what had happened to his brother and to the Princess of Terrasen could happen again.

He was worried that this was a much bigger problem than they were anticipating.

Rhiannon placed a hand at his shoulder. “Andrik, come with me.”

“I have to-“

“The healer is outside,” Rhiannon said in a whisper. “Let your brother sleep.”

Her hand slipped from his shoulder to rest on top of his own.

Andrik’s heart was made of flowers.

“Come,” Rhia said softly.

Andrik rose slowly, and allowed Rhiannon to pull him out of the room, like she’d pulled him out of the infirmary that terrible night, when he’d been a wreck, unable to leave his brother’s side.

They walked through the gardens in the afternoon sun in gentle, sweet silence, and Andrik’s eyes kept lowering to their clasped hands. Rhiannon was scrunching up her nose slightly, the way she always did when there was a lot of things on her mind. The same way she used to do when they were children, and she would look at him, trying to puzzle him out, while Andrik hid behind his mother’s skirts, too intimated by the little witch to even talk to her.

Daisies grew underneath his shoes.

As he looked to the sun, Andrik Lochan found himself wondering how the sun could still shine whenever terrible things happened. It seemed like one strange, cruel contradiction to him.

“I have to go back to the Witch Kingdom,” Rhiannon said.

Andrik told his heart to stop aching, but it did no good.

“Okay,” he whispered.

They had stopped near a statue of Rhoe Galathynius that was covered in bright red roses. His sword – Aedion’s sword – was pointed right at Andrik’s heart.

Rhiannon did not let go of his hand.

“I have things to tell you,” she whispered, her yellow eyes lowering to their hands. “Things I should have told you a long time ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Andrik responded. “You know you have no obligation toward me. Or I hope you know.”

Rhia looked up at him, opening her mouth, then closing it. She breathed in, and with her free hand, she pulled her white hair from her face, tugging it behind her ear. A nervous habit of hers. Andrik watched the gesture with hopeless longing. In the sun, the strands shimmered.

“Andrik,” Rhia said.

Andrik’s _yes?_ got lost in his throat the moment Rhia removed her hand from his to rest it at his cheek. Her other hand too. She looked into his eyes once, and then leaned forward to touch her lips to his.

Andrik did not dare to draw breath. Nor move.

Colours exploded in his mind as his eyes fluttered shut. The feel of her mouth on his… he’d dreamt of it for so long, he’d imagined how he’d kiss her, and he’d played back once or twice or perhaps a third time how he would gain the courage to ask her before he took her chin and tasted her lips for the very first time.

His dreams had been volatile, at best.

But they always ended up with her saying _yes_.

_Yes, yes, yes._

Just a tender press of her lips, and Andrik was gone.

_Gone_.

Rhiannon stepped closer to him, thumbs on either side of their kiss. She smelled like him. Like the scented water he sprayed on his pillows, on his clothes. And she smelled like he always remembered: like mountain air. Like freedom.

The witch pulled back then, so slowly, her hands still on his cheeks.

He opened his eyes to see her lick her lips, her expression unreadable.

Andrik managed to let out, “What was that for?”

Rhia closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to-“ Andrik stopped himself there, choosing his words carefully. “Rhia,” he touched her hands, gently prying them off him. His spine tingled with her touch. “You don’t have to. You don’t have to do this.”

She blinked, confused, watching him grip her wrists as if he’d push her away completely. “What?” She breathed. “You think I don’t… that this is not what I want?”

“Why now?”

He had to ask.

He had to know.

Rhia dragged out a breath. “For a long time, I didn’t believe you. You know I didn’t. I watched you charm an entire room of people, and I hated myself for falling for it, too. For being as charmed as anyone else. I realized much, much later that you did not do it to hurt me. It’s just you. That’s _you_. You’re a magnet, Andrik. You cannot help but have people fall in love with you the moment you step into a room.” She shook her head, getting lost in her words. “The thing is, when you came to me, I was… scared. I was frightened that I was just going to be something to be conquered by you. I was wrong to think you were being anything else but truthful. I judged you, and I was wrong.”

Andrik blinked.

And he said nothing for the longest time.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered after a while.

“I have feelings for you,” Rhia blurted out. And then she shut her eyes, cringing. He was still holding her wrists between them. “I… that sounds so terribly juvenile. I mean that…” She sighed. “I want you. I have for a long time.”

“What.”

Rhia sighed. “Andrik, I-“

He stepped back.

And it killed him to see the look on Rhiannon’s face, like someone had buried a dagger on her back. But Andrik was too stunned to do anything else.

“If you feel sorry for me because of what happened with Ragnar, because of the way I shattered last night-“

“I would _never_ be confessing my feelings for you if that was the reason, Andrik,” Rhiannon snarled. “Do you _know_ me?”

“Then tell me why,” Andrik said. “Now I am asking _you_ , begging you, to tell me why. Why now, Rhiannon?”

Rhiannon straightened. A summer’s breeze blew her hair in front of her face, and Andrik swore he could see the hurt in her eyes then, as she pushed the strands away.

“Seeing Eva’s desperation last night,” Rhiannon said in an uncharacteristically hushed tone, “looking at your brother fighting unconsciousness, thinking about what could have happened to them. Eva was not okay. She put on a brave face for everyone, because that’s what we do, but I knew, when I spoke to her, that something had broken inside her. That’s how I would feel if something happened to you.”

“What?” Andrik murmured.

Rhiannon blinked. “I think we can all agree that Eva and Ragnar are absolutely in love, right? I mean, it’s obvious. It’s always been obvious.”

“No, yes, of course, they’re besotted with each other completely, they have been for decades, but-“ Andrik shook his head. “No, I meant – that’s how you would feel?”

Rhia lowered her eyes.

“Don’t look away,” Andrik breathed. “Don’t look away, Rhia.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I would wreck this world and the next if something happened to you.” A pause. “I’ve known that you mattered more than most for a long time, I just never allowed myself to feel it because I was frightened. Of you, mostly. But also of myself.”

Andrik watched her silently, his heart almost beating out of his mouth. Her gaze travelled to his chest, like she knew.

Rhia said, “There was a bigger reason as to why I ran from you.”

Andrik approached her slowly.

Rhiannon parted her lips the moment Andrik came close, as if she might ask him-

He touched her cheek the way she’d touched his. Just a brush of his fingers against satin skin. He said, “There was?”

Rhiannon closed her eyes at the feel of him, and nodded. “If you allow me, I can tell you that story. I can make you understand.”

He already understood.

The moment golden eyes met his dark ones, he understood.

But still.

Andrik didn’t hide the joy on his face as he whispered to her, “Yes.” He touched her other cheek. “Yes,” he said. “Tell me that story.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Three years ago, north-western mountain range, Witch Kingdom_

Rhiannon Crochan, third of her name, had a vague feeling that the wyvern wished her very, very dead.

But her mother, the Queen, had showed her the hows of training wyverns, and all her life, Rhiannon had been exceedingly good at it. In her early years, she had raged, and stomped, and cried, and begged her mother to show her the clouds by the time she had taken her very first steps, so Witch Princess knew how to take the reins – better yet, she knew how to wield them.

The most difficult of younglings were brought to Rhiannon for discipline, and while from time to time she found a tough one to crack, Rhia had to admit that she had never encountered such a stubborn wyvern such as the one that was currently facing her, blowing angry, fiery air from her nostrils.

Her own mount, a large male with blue-grey scales that were almost fluorescent in the sun, stood by her side, a little taken aback by his female counterpart’s unwillingness to cooperate.

“Azul,” Rhiannon said to her mount. “Go charm her, will you?”

Azul turned his snout to his witch, his curved teeth snapping nervously. The female, who Rhiannon could only think to call _Amren_ , after the ancient legend of the deadly angel her mother used to tell her and Asterin stories about, snarled viciously, pulling at her chains and digging her deadly claws deep into the ground. Rhiannon hated the leashes and the collars. She despised using them. But she knew that if the wyvern was cut loose, there would be a fifty-fifty chance of Rhia losing her head or one of her limbs, or everything at the same time.

“Go on,” she encouraged Azul. “Don’t get too close.”

The wyvern plopped himself into the grass instead, the mountain wind bringing in dandelion seeds that he made a quick distraction of. Azul raised his gigantic head, and tried to catch them in his mouth. Rhiannon stared. “You couldn’t take after your mother, could you?” The witch sighed as Azul buried his face into the grass, rubbing his snout in the wildflowers. “You’re just like your father.”

Then Rhiannon turned to the female. “Right, Amren, you nightmare. It’s you and me.”

Amren tried to take a step towards Rhia, her growl reverberating through the mountains, but the chains stopped her from approaching the Princess.

“Stop,” Rhia murmured, watching the wyvern struggle inside the chains that held her. She’d brought the animal to the mountainside for this very same reason – Rhia was afraid Amren might hurt herself and the other wyverns. She thought this place would provide peace for both of them. “You’ll only hurt yourself. I’m trying to help.”

Rhiannon bent the knee.

The wyvern’s depthless eyes watched her, grey swirls in dark mists. She was a storm come to life – but so was Rhiannon. She held out her hands, showing no weapons and no torture devices her last owners had, without a doubt, used on her. “I will not hurt you. But I cannot unchain you. Understand I am only trying to protect him and myself.”

_Forgive me._

Rhiannon slowly rose, still showing her hands, but with her head held high. The wyvern stayed very still, watching her with that stormy temperament. This would take months and months of unwavering patience, or perhaps it would take years for this wyvern to trust her. But Rhiannon would do it. She had never given up on a mount, and she was not going to start that day.

“I will not hurt you,” Rhiannon whispered. She wondered how many times her previous owners had told the wyvern the same thing, and did the exact opposite. Considering the heavy scars on the left side of her body and neck, Rhiannon could have a guess.

A step closer. Another. This was as far as the wyvern had allowed her to go the last time she’d brought her to the mountains. Flying with her alongside Azul wasn’t easy, mostly because the wyvern always tried to bite him, but also because flying with a leash while trying to hold on to your own wyvern wasn’t exactly what witches were made for.

Another.

Then it all went to hell.

Azul wrapped his tail around Rhia’s body faster than she could have predicted, and _yanked_ her back. With a grunt, Rhia went sprawling through tall grasses, her iron nails digging into the dirt to stop the force of that push-

Azul had placed himself in front of her, growling like he’d never done before, so violently that Rhia stayed on the ground. But he wasn’t growling at Amren, no – he was looking up into the skies, where another wyvern passed by, its snout turned down, toward them. The rider landed a couple of feet away, and Rhiannon followed the line of Amren’s leash – making sure it was still safely attached to the boulders. Rhiannon stood, grinding her teeth at the interruption, but when she tried to go past Azul, the mount placed his heavy tail in front of her, so Rhia could not go through.

He snarled at the rider.

The rider – who Rhiannon knew.

“Your Highness,” Alistair said as he dismounted, with his usual flair, spreading his arms as far as they would go. “Funny finding you here.”

A Crochan male witch, Alistair had been one of the best riders of Rhia’s generation. A few years older than her, he had taken the role of her left hand in handling the training of the wyverns and the youngest riders.

Alistair stood a few paces away, aware of Azul’s biting snarl. His grin flashed in the sun, sandy hair blowing in the wind. “Still doesn’t like me much, does he?”

“He’s not very trusting,” Rhia drawled. “We’re busy, Alistair.”

“I see that,” Alistair said, turning his dark eyes to the female wyvern instead, who growled under her breath, suspicious at the sight of another mount staring at her. “This one, again?”

“I won’t give her up.”

“Even your mother told you to leave it alone,” Alistair reminded her. “Set her free, Rhiannon.”

Rhiannon pushed past Azul’s tail, approaching the male witch. “This wyvern has never even learned how to hunt. It will die.”

“We can’t control nature, Princess,” Alistair said sadly. “That is the one thing out of our power. If it doesn’t want you, do not chase it.”

“She is not an _it_ ,” Rhia said, with as much bite as she could. “You will do well to remember that.”

She turned her back on the rider, angry that he had interrupted them when Rhia was beginning to make progress. “Azul, come.”

Azul didn’t budge. He eyed Alistair as if flowers were no longer his favourite meal. Alistair, however, seemed not to mind, and found the entire situation all too amusing, for he kept a challenging grin on his face that did nothing to soothe Rhia’s growing irritation.

“Something I can help you with?” He smiled.

“I am more than capable, thank you.”

“Oh, I know,” Alistair said. “Though, I do struggle to think of other excuses to try and be close to you.”

Rhiannon halted. Wind chilled her to the bone. Slowly, she turned, brows raised. “What did you say?”

Alistair’s smile was something out of a dream. “You heard me,” he said softly. “Does that come as a surprise to you?”

“Did you come here to flirt with me, Alistair?”

“What if I did?” He raised his chin. “Will you make me that wyvern’s meal?”

Rhiannon’s heart had stumbled a bit, and she knew that he had heard it, but the Princess pretended otherwise as she took one look at Amren, then another at Alistair. “I might,” she said in calculation. “Or you might be _my_ meal.”

Ironteeth and nails out.

Reminding him exactly what she was capable of; whose daughter she was.

But Alistair did not balk. He would not be one to do so, Rhiannon knew. Instead, his smile seemed to widen. “Oh, will you use those on me? I shall be enchanted to be ripped apart by you, my ruthless Princess. Let my last breath be your greatest pleasure.”

“You’re a player with beautiful words,” Rhiannon said. “What else do you have in your pockets?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” he cooed.

Rhiannon narrowed her eyes. She could meet the challenge. Alistair was a few years older, experienced in the matters of love, and though she was not, Rhiannon decided that she did not wish that to be the thing stopping her.

“Very well,” she said simply.

“Very well?”

“Charm me,” Rhiannon said, turning her back on him. “Turn out your pockets. We’ll see how well you do.” She mounted Azul. Rhia could use the altitude to allow her cheeks to cool, to allow her head to stop spinning. And Amren could use the distance, too.

Alistair watched her.

Rhia smiled. “And we will see whether or not you become my monster’s meal.”

Amren growled her answer as Rhia unwrapped the leash from the boulders. When she took to the skies, she felt Alistair’s eyes on her until she disappeared from his sight.

For the next year, he charmed her. With smiles, with words, with kisses, with touches, with winks and with a tenderness that even Rhiannon had trouble not falling for.

And oh, she’d fallen. Hard.

He’d helped her with Amren. At her request, he’d been as patient as Rhiannon was. Azul had insisted on keeping her very far away from the rider. So had her sister, Asterin, claiming Alistair was not a good enough male for Rhiannon.

Rhia hadn’t listened. She’d liked the smiles, the words, the kisses, everything, a little too much, and that had been her mistake.

She became a monster’s meal.

***

_Present, Orynth gardens, Terrasen_

“Months later,” Rhiannon continued, “I was able to take Amren flying by myself – she trusted me. She didn’t like the reins, but her and I built a friendship. So, I flew her over to the mountains. I was so happy that day, and I know she was, too. When I got back home, Asterin pulled me aside.”

Her and Andrik had been sitting for a while in one of the marbled garden benches, hidden by a pathway of blood red roses. As she spoke, Andrik held on to every word, and he said nothing at all – not a comment, not a sound – he just let Rhiannon explain. He did not push. He did not ask about the things she decided to keep to herself. Andrik just listened.

“She’d heard Alistair make a fool of me in my absence,” Rhiannon said, turning her eyes to the roses behind Andrik, so she wouldn’t have to meet his gaze and see if what lingered there was what she feared the most. “He’d thought her gone, too, but she’d heard him say awful things. He told his friends he had the title of King guaranteed.”

Andrik let out a single breath – the only sound he’d made for a while.

Rhiannon paused. “In hindsight, I should have known. He spoke of power often, where we were both concerned. He spoke of the power our lineage would have.” She breathed a sigh. “I was young. And I was a fool. It was my fault.”

Andrik was silent for a long time. Rhiannon wished he spoke. She wished for any sound to fill the void that had been created inside her chest, and to take the place of all the embarrassment she still felt after all these years.

At last, Andrik said to her, so softly, “How are you at fault? You fell in love.”

“Exactly,” Rhia said. “Against my better judgment. Against my sister’s warnings.”

“Your only mistake was to love,” Andrik said, turning to her fully, his voice close to becoming angry. “Do you not see that?”

Rhia was silent.

He did not think her foolish. Andrik did not judge her.

“He is the fool,” Andrik whispered, the way people do when they are trying not to scream.

“I wish that I hadn’t…” Rhia shook her head. “Unconsciously, I think I compared you to him, Andrik. Which was not fair, but I was hurt, and I was angry, and I saw you charm people the way _he_ did, and despite everything I knew about you, I wanted to believe that you were just as terrible. That you would do the exact same, if not worse, of what he did to me. I thought my feelings would go away if I considered you a monster.”

“You tried to protect yourself,” Andrik said. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I can,” Rhia said. “And I do. You are not Alistair. Your heart is incomparable.”

Andrik paused, watching her carefully. “I’m sorry,” he closed his eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, that someone would do that to you, Rhiannon.”

Even now – even now, when she was giving him what he’d wanted, he still managed to think of her feelings, and her feelings only.

“And I’m sorry that I wasted years I could have had with you.”

Andrik looked up, meeting her eyes. He was at a loss for words, Rhiannon could tell, and he was precious, and wonderful, and beautiful, and she had a thousand more grand words to describe him that would never truly do Andrik justice.

Andrik asked, “Is he dead?” as if he wished it would be so.

Rhiannon smiled slightly, “He is alive. No thanks to Asterin.”

“I bet.”

“I punished him in my own way,” Rhiannon said. “Alistair taught me many things, you know, but most of all, he taught me the value of words: which is none. Words mean nothing. But they do strike hard, if you use them well. He made me a fool, so I made him into the court jester. He wished to be King, so I crowned him the King of fools.” Rhia lowered her eyes. “I shamed him, publicly, so what he did to me could never be done to anyone else.”

Andrik touched her chin.

Rhia’s eyes lifted to his.

Andrik said, “I would have locked him inside Amren’s pen.”

The Princess laughed out loud then, a sudden, almost startled sound that fell out of her mouth before she could stop it. She laughed some more when Andrik showed her a smile of his own, and she laughed, and laughed, until her insides hurt. Until Andrik was laughing with her, too, clutching his own stomach.

His laughter faded then, as he took her in. After a moment’s pause, Andrik said, “I will never be perfect. But I will never, ever, hurt you.”

“I know,” Rhia whispered. “I’m just sorry it took me years to understand that.”

“What’s a few years for immortal beings?” Andrik smiled.

Rhiannon leaned in. 

She could hear the moment Andrik’s heart gave out, that little missing beat before it thrummed hard and fast in his chest at her closeness, and then she knew, for certain, that it was true, and she could not doubt that evidence: Andrik Lochan’s heart called out to her, as hers called out to him.

Andrik breathed in shakily, and then he was leaning in too. Rhiannon’s eyes fluttered closed, until a scent reached her nose-

“Oh, apologizes, Your Highness, My Lord! Oh, dearest Goddess, I’m very, very sorry.”

The maid was shielding her eyes with the palm of her hand. Rhiannon and Andrik looked at each other before smiling.

“Don’t apologize, dear Mrs. Olen,” Andrik said, “blame us. We are the ones being disgustingly romantic in a very public place.”

Rhiannon almost rolled her eyes. Andrik Lochan’s theatrics would never fail to charm her.

Mrs. Olen pulled her hand back and smiled adoringly at them both, like they were young troublemakers she would secretly reward with candy. “Oh, I could never blame you.” A pause, and then she squealed as she remembered what she’d came there to say. “Oh, my Lord, I must tell you that Her Highness, Princess Eva has returned. She requests your presence.”

Andrik’s face fell with worry. “Thank you, Mrs. Olen. I will be right there.”

The maid smiled, then quickly walked away.

“Go,” Rhiannon murmured. “It sounds important. I will go find Asterin, and we will meet you.”

Andrik nodded, sighing softly to himself. He touched her chin again, inching closer. “You and I are not done,” he said against her mouth.

“I hope not,” Rhiannon whispered back.

Andrik gave her a chaste kiss, honey-sweet, and drew back before either of them could get lost. Rhiannon watched him go then, and settled herself, taking a deep breath.

Reality called at last.

***

Luna Moonbeam had left part of herself in that strange, beautiful world where stars shined at their brightest.

As her back rested against the door of her chambers, her mind swirled with smiles and banter and flames and laughter and wishes. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. She saw Seren.

Her body had been rested for hours, and Luna had been ready to teleport herself back home for a while, however she’d stayed under the pretence that she’d needed more rest because…

Well.

Because she’d wanted more pieces of Seren’s life so she could begin to build the puzzle. She’d wanted more words from him, more thoughts, and more shy smiles thrown her way. She’d wanted his company. And worse: Luna had known that she’d come to need it.

She didn’t remember the last time she’d smiled so much. That’s what she’d done before – she’d smile a whole lot.

Day had already broken the skies for a few hours. She’d spent another night without sleep, and yet she did not feel tired. She felt-

No. There were things that needed to be done. She needed to see Ragnar, and she needed to check on Eva, too.

Luna couldn’t tell anyone that she’d returned to Velaris the night before.

Her family were already worried enough, and though Luna wished to find the reason to explain the whole ordeal of unconsciously teleporting herself to the same unknown place twice, she could not frighten them any further. Especially not with everything that was going on. Luna knew for certain now that a Wyrdgate had not been opened, because creating one for the second time was not likely, for one, and also it would prove to be even more of a challenge. Her body would not be able to take in that much amount of power and recharge that easily. This meant that she had travelled to the Night Court on her own will. As to how and why… she was still intent on finding that out, and Luna would have to do that on her own.

But – later.

As Luna moved to open the door to her chamber, a familiar scent made her halt. Then, Andrea Lochan was there, staring at her, saying, “I was about to knock, you have been asleep for-”

Silence.

Andrea’s eyes slowly lowered to Luna’s clothes. Her nostrils flared at the scent that those clothes carried. The scent that Luna, herself, now carried. Citrus. Unfamiliar.

Dangerous.

“Those are not yours,” Andrea murmured, attention narrowed to the dark tunic and pants that Luna was wearing.

Oh, Goddess.

Luna had literally left part of her in the Night Court. Her memory came to live: her shift drying in front of Seren’s fireplace after she’d teleported right into his bath. Their long conversation. Their distraction, which had led Luna to forget to change before saying her goodbye.

Oh. Oh, no.

Luna heard sirens in her mind. In a panicked haste, she pulled Andrea inside the room, and closed the door.

“Did you go to him?” Andrea hissed.

“No,” Luna said back, turning to her friend. “Of course not. It happened again.”

“It happened again,” Andrea repeated, blinking once.

Down the gutter it went, her plan to keep her involuntary travels a secret.

“Last night, when I was close to falling asleep,” Luna began to explain, sighing to herself. “I remember feeling this… sinking feeling. As if I were falling endlessly down a hole through the earth.”

“I have those dreams all the time,” Andrea muttered, thinking out loud. “I should get that checked out, actually, it’s messing up my sleep… sorry, go on.”

“And I really was falling,” Luna said tightly. “I _did_ fall.” She breathed in. “Into… his bathtub.”

Andrea’s eyes slowly began to widen, and at the same time, Luna watched as Andrea’s lips parted, something close to horror but also amusement, crossing her face.

“He was in it,” Luna finished.

Andrea pursed her lips very tightly.

“Don’t,” Luna whispered. “Don’t you dare, Andy.”

Andrea swallowed her laughter, turning her eyes to the window. With the effort of holding it in, her eyes began to tear up, her shoulders moving.

Luna only crossed her arms. “He lent me the clothes. We just… talked, and it was strange and awkward, but also sort of nice, and he picked eyelashes off my cheek… I left my nightshift there.”

“Oh,” Andrea breathed. “You… _fell_ into this dude’s bathtub?”

“Goddess,” Luna muttered.

Andrea was sent sprawling on Luna’s bed in a fit of giggles, while Luna stood there, watching her, wondering why the Goddess would curse her, of all people.

“Oh, oh, Gods,” Andrea gasped, choking on her own laughter. “I can’t… breathe. Ah, ah, Gods.”

“Are you done.”

Andrea only laughed some more. Luna began to shake her head, but her mouth slowly quirked up. At least, Andrea was laughing. After everything that had happened with Ragnar, Luna thought that Andrea deserved some laughs. “I guess it was pretty funny,” Luna said.

“Was he naked?”

“Have you ever met anyone who did not bathe naked, Andy? Of course he was naked.”

Andrea sat up on the bed, mischief in her eyes.

“Stop.” Luna pointed her finger, reading too well into Andrea’s silence. “Don’t ask what you’re thinking of asking me.”

“Did you see _it_?”

“Andrea!” Luna yelped. “You are not a child!”

“You told me he had wings,” Andrea persisted. “Does the wingspan match the… _downstairs wingspan_?”

Luna’s cheeks burned. “That’s a lot of talk for someone who stinks of _witch_. Do you want to talk about that, Lady Lochan?”

Andrea smirked. “One of my favourite hobbies is talk about all things, Asterin, but we’re on your thing still.” A pause, as Andrea raised her brows. “So… it happened again.”

“And I still have no idea why, or how.”

Andrea straightened, her face contorting into a thoughtful frown. “Maybe Amara is right.”

“She often is,” Luna murmured. “About what, though?”

“About your powers,” Andrea explained, gesturing. “What if they are unique? Alright, yes, maybe the few Fae we know of can only teleport to places they have a clear idea of, your father included. However, how do we know that _that’s_ the limit?” A pause. “What if you are limitless?”

“You mean – I can teleport… to random places?”

“Perhaps,” Andrea said. “No matter what, you will always know how to come back home. Your powers, however, may take you farther than you expect.”

Luna sighed. “I… need to change. Get these clothes off me.” His _scent_ off. “How is your brother?”

“I visited this morning, and he was asleep. He had a slight fever, but… it’s normal. It’s just his body pushing out the ash.”

“I should go see him, and Eva, too.”

Andrea flinched. “She went to kill Vanserra.”

Luna’s heart dropped. “Damn it.”

“I know,” Andrea said. “I hope my brother doesn’t know. I didn’t dare to stop her. My father and Aedion tagged along.”

Luna closed her eyes momentarily. If Eva were to get hurt…

“Help me dress,” Luna said softly. “We’ll see if anyone has any news. Oh, Andrea – please don’t tell anyone about me. Just for now. Everyone is worried, and I want them to focus on Ragnar and Eva and catching the male behind all of this.”

Andrea frowned. “Luna, what if it happens again?”

Luna swallowed. “He won’t hurt me.”

“How can you be sure?” Andrea asked, shaking her head. “Do you trust him?”

She did not hesitate.

“Yes,” Luna said. “Yes, I trust Seren.”

***

The Princess of Terrasen walked through the halls of the palace of Orynth with arrows at her back and knifes strapped to her waist. The courtiers thought she looked like death approaching in quick steps. Flanking her were Andrik, Lorcan, and Aedion. Eva had just filled Andrik in on everything that happened.

Well.

Not exactly _everything_.

The word _mate_ still stung her tongue, and after she’d managed to stop panicking in her father’s arms, Eva still felt as if she could not confront that realization just yet, even if it was a constant banging in her mind. _Ragnar is my mate Ragnar is my mate Ragnar is my mate Ragnar-_

“I want a search party,” Eva was saying, because revenge was easy to focus on, easier yet to allow all her emotions to be filtered into that one single thing: “I want Vanserra’s head at my feet.”

“Do you know where he _couldn’t_ have gone?” Andrik asked, eyes drifting to the hound at Lorcan’s side. Andrik hadn’t yet asked about that one - wagging - detail.

“Probably not anywhere in Terrasen,” Eva said. “He knew we would smell him out. I reckon Meah.” A pause. “I brought the dog.”

“I can see that,” Andrik said.

“He was starving, and alone, and I couldn’t-“ Eva swallowed hard. She would not break again. “I couldn’t leave him.”

Andrik, as if he knew, touched her hand. Squeezed once.

_I am here._

Letting out a little breath, Eva squeezed right back. “You smell like Rhia. Did that finally happen or do I have to wait a thousand more years to see you together?”

Andrik smiled slightly. “Later.”

Yes – later. Now, there were more important matters.

“Ragnar?” She whispered.

“Running a fever,” Andrik said to her. “But he’s alright, Eva. He’s more than alright.”

Eva refrained from closing her eyes in relief. Her father and Lorcan were watching her.

“Eva,” Luna called.

The Princess turned her head to see Luna and Andrea joining them, walking along the halls. “I just heard,” Luna said. “Are you-“

“I’m fine,” Eva assured, the lie bitter. “Vanserra disappeared, as we expected.”

Andrea’s eyes darkened as her and Lorcan traded a look.

Before she took herself to Ragnar’s room, before she could face what her heart had understood in that cottage-

She walked into the throne room with her family alongside her, and into the meeting room adjacent, where Aelin already waited by herself. The Queen stared straight through Eva at Lorcan and Aedion first, before her eyes stopped on the Princess.

“I wasn’t invited?” Aelin said.

“I needed this, Aelin,” was the only thing Eva said.

Aelin rounded the long table, and touched her cousin’s shoulders. Eva knew what Aelin saw in Eva wavering gaze. But she still looked to the Queen, her family, her friend, and said, “Aelin, Vanserra is going to die at my hands. But first, I need your help.”

Amara walked into the room then, her dark gown looking as threatening as Eva’s weapons. She touched Eva’s hand, and nodded.

_I am here._

They would stand by her. All of them. Always would.

“Tell us your plan,” Aelin said.

***

_Fuck._

Aidan recognized the scent before it was way too late to turn back.

His father leaned against the rock of one of Ramiel Mountain’s many caves, seeming to be waiting for him, his wings still folding behind him. Aidan hadn’t flown in – everytime he decided to visit the portal, he was careful enough to become inconspicuous.

Clearly, it hadn’t worked. 

Aidan breathed in as he hunched himself up and stood, facing the High Lord of the Night Court. His father smiled in a way that meant trouble.

“Son,” Rhysand said. “What are you doing here?” He asked as if he already knew.

Aidan paused. “Not planning to go through a portal, _that’s_ for sure.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes.

“I found it by accident,” Aidan said, lowering his head. He truly did not know how much trouble he would find himself in when he finished explaining. “And I was curious to see what awaited on the other side.”

“And were you surprised?”

Aidan looked up then. “You’ve been there.”

Rhysand sighed softly. “Once,” he said. “Only once. Long before I met your mother.”

Aidan paused, going through his options. His father wasn’t going to scold him, for Rhys would have already done it, so… what now?

“I should say that I’m disappointed you did not tell me.”

“Only because I didn’t wish for you to worry,” Aidan said, and it was true – he knew his mother and father well enough to know that they would not take well to their youngest son travelling to uncharted human lands by himself and would not trust anyone else to go with him but themselves. “I’m sorry.”

“You boys are grown, and your mother and I understand that,” his father said softly. “But not including us is what makes us worry. We are your parents, son.”

“I know,” Aidan said. “I just…”

Rhysand quirked an eyebrow.

“I feel like answers live on the other side of that portal,” Aidan murmured.

“Answers to what, son?”

Aidan hesitated. “I don’t know yet.”

Rhysand smiled, like he understood. Aidan had never needed to explain himself fully to his father – it seemed like he’d always been one step ahead of Aidan, always knowing what Aidan felt before he realized it himself.

His father walked to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am endlessly proud of you, do you know that? You and brother are and will forever be what your mother and I treasure the most.” Rhysand stepped back. “Promise me to be safe.”

Aidan nodded. “I promise.”

Rhysand breathed in. “Promise me you’ll arrive in time for dinner, and that you will not keep your mother in the dark where your safety is concerned.”

“Yes, of course, I promise.”

“Am I stalling you?” Rhysand smirked. “Got somewhere to be?”

Aidan laughed. “Father.”

“Come here,” Rhysand said, pulling his son in for a hug.

He squeezed Aidan until his son could barely breathe, and then said gently, “Be safe.”

Aidan watched his father fly off into the late afternoon, his wings booming like thunder through the skies. Aidan took a breath, and then walked inside the cave. Puddles and moss greeted him, the familiar scent of rot in his nostrils as Aidan walked through the narrow passage into the wall he’d faced for two times now.

He closed his eyes. 

His palms touched the moss.

One, two, three.

He only noticed he’d crossed when the breeze changed – and the wind no longer brushed his hair, but a scorching heat blazed through. He was on the same beach he’d been before. Humans walked and lounged around. He walked among them in what he believed were neutral clothes, trying to act as normal as one could when one did not truly understand what the notion of normal might be.

The roads were what interested him the most. The transportation. The noise and the buzzing streets, the flashing lights.

It was all _so much._

He followed a couple quite a few paces behind. Two girls swayed their clasped hands, a colourful cup in one’s hand, a sparkling device with moving images in the other’s. When they found the right place to cross the street, Aidan followed them, noticing how they had specific designs on the ground for such an action.

Aidan tried not to flinch at seeing a transport roll by, its noise digging into his head. He looked up, buildings as tall as clouds greeting him.

_How do they build that?_ He wondered.

As the girls spoke to each other, he noted their strange language. The words blurred together, lightning speed, sounding almost as if they were not speaking at all, but _singing_.

Was singing their talking?

He got lost in the streets, watching various stores: food, books, clothes. Their colourful windows with painted faces and bright smiles caught his attention, and Aidan stood by, mesmerized by it all.

And then the shout came.

Aidan moved out of the way on reflex, startled by the noise. He was glued to the wall of a brick building, gaze following a male on a teleportation… _device_ with two round circles. He lifted his head to try and see more of it, but before he could, it was out of his sight.

_What in the seven hells was that?_

A girl was speaking to him.

Aidan started as she came close, snapping his head back to her. She was still speaking to him. He looked down at her, blinking. The girl cocked her head to the side, her gaze worried when he did not respond.

She carried books in her hand.

He didn’t understand a thing she was saying.

Would he-

Would he dare?

Aidan swallowed, and took breath. Glamour was easy on himself, but on other people it became a hard task – one had to concentrate immensely for it to work, and being amongst all that noise and chaos certainly did not help his case.

But then the girl spoke again.

And Aidan understood every word, as if she was speaking his tongue. “Are you… alright?”

“Yes?” He tried.

She blinked, and relief crossed her eyes. She understood him.

He’d glamoured her speech.

It had been a lucky guess, really – Aidan had read about it in one of the books on diplomacy that he’d found stashed at the back of his father’s library. Once, when a common tongue did not exist in Prythian, glamour was used. The same type of magic that Aidan used to hide his wings and make his ears rounder, projected into someone else, into a different part.

The girl was smiling.

She made him nervous.

Aidan tried to smile back, but it felt crooked to him. 

“Are you a tourist?” She asked kindly, and Aidan shook his head, because he had no idea what that meant. “You look wildly unprepared for the city.” She laughed softly, a sound he’d never been prepared to hear.

She was beautiful.

Beautiful like all things unknown and dangerous. And beautiful like all things untouchable – like the sun, like the stars.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he murmured, composing himself. _Stop staring stop starting stop it._ “I’m… startled, is all.”

“That’s okay,” she smiled. _Oh Cauldron. Stop staring_. “I walk distracted all the time, too. I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Thank you for saving me,” he said, still marvelling that he was talking to her. As long as he kept his hold on that glamour-

“I hardly did anything,” she said. “Those were really fast reflexes. You’re an athlete?”

_Athlete_?

“No,” he said, turning it slightly into a question.

The girl looked at him for a few seconds. She seemed to be considering something.

_Stop. Staring. Now. Aidan._

“You look like you need a strong tea,” the girl said, holding her books to her chest. “I was just going for a coffee, do you… perhaps want to come? That was quite a fright. Bicycles aren’t even allowed on this side of the road, I don’t know why that guy was cycling here,” she shook her head in disapproval, dark brows furrowed. “Some people are just… anyways. I’m María.”

_Bicycles?_

_Cycling?_

Aidan laughed nervously. He was assured by the words _strong tea_ and _coffee_ – those he knew. He scratched the back of his head, and said, “I… yes, of course.” And then he remembered she’d told him her name, a name he was not sure he would be able to pronounce at first try, so he did not dare to repeat it. “I’m Aidan.”

“Aidan.” She tasted the name on her tongue, eyes curious. She’d begun to walk, and Aidan followed her in clumsy, slightly shaky legs. “So, where are you from?”

He blinked. _Think_. “The North.”

“Ah,” she said. “Weather’s quite different here, uh?” She laughed, as if she’d made a joke, and Aidan smiled along, not sure what else to say. Thankfully, the girl – María – spoke again: “You speak Spanish really well, though.”

_Spanish_. This tongue, this language – it was called Spanish. How would she react if she knew he was speaking _his_ tongue, but the glamour made it sound as if he were truly speaking her own? Aidan truly did not wish to find out and see her run from him.

“I learned it,” he said, guessing. “A long time ago.”

“Well, Aidan,” she smiled, pulling her hair behind her ear. “How are you liking it here?”

Aidan knew he was staring at her too long, but he’d never seen anyone who moved in such a way. She was graceful, and her steps were bouncy, happy. She gestured while she spoke, one hand holding on to her books with strange symbols while she stepped between and around people on the street with well-practiced movements. Like someone used to walking in crowds.

He tried to be as truthful as he could. “I have… many, many questions.”

María stopped near a door, allowing people to exit first. She held the door open, smiled, and looked at him straight in the eye. “You’re in luck,” she said in a sing-song voice. “I am told I always seem to have all the answers.” She gestured toward the inside of the building. “Shall we?”

Aidan took everything in too quickly – the tables and chairs outside with colourful spreads, the people chatting and drinking, the sound of voices echoing inside, the smell of food and coffee and sweet things.

The girl in front of him, smiling.

“Yes,” he said. “We shall.”

***

Atarah was used to the sea.

Whenever her mind was filled with storms, she walked alongside the coast, or she roamed the steep bluffs, needing the exercise and the salty air to cleanse her heavy thoughts.

That day, her head was as heavy as ever.

The note in her hand was from Orynth. Ragnar Lochan had been struck down with an ash arrow by someone who had intended to kill him. Lady Luna had retold the story in quick scribbles, ending her note with a piece of warning: _Be aware, my friend. We do not know who else might be coming or how dangerous they are or what they intend to accomplish with their hatred._

Atarah was seldom frightened.

That day, fright had made her turn to the sea. But the waves were as cold as she felt, and just as agitated.

Her family watched over these lands, given to them by the Queen herself, and whilst Suria made for a peaceful coastal city, Atarah felt tranquillity drift away with each passing hour. She knew she could not allow herself to stay still, in her little corner of the country, while her friends, the people she had grown up with, were in danger. If they were attempting to fight back, then she wanted to fight back too.

That is why she left during the hottest hours of the afternoon, leaving her parents with a brief explanation. They’d fought with her briefly, trying to talk some sense into her. But Atarah felt it was better to be worried and to move, than to be worried and sit still.

Worry ate at you, slowly. Like salt water eroding the rocks.

Her horse was fast, and it would only take her a couple of hours to reach Orynth, if that. Atarah’s mother had insisted that she take her father’s sword, and had been so relentless in her insistence that Atarah had given in and agreed to carry it, just to give her poor mother some peace of mind. She was glad for it now. As she rode through plains and then through heavy, green woods all by herself, the steady weight of the sword on her back felt assuring. Soothing, even.

She knew things were bad when a weapon used for war became a source of comfort.

Atarah made her horse slow down, checking its breathing. She could go on for a couple more miles, but Atarah could not make the poor animal continue in this heat without some rest. They stopped in a clearing filled with Kingsflame, casting an orange glow in the high sun. Atarah felt for her sword, reassuring herself that it was easily within reach, and then led her horse by the reins to a little stream of water.

As the horse drank, Atarah looked around the forest. She remembered the way from whenever she and her parents had travelled to Orynth for parties and meetings before Aelin had made her Suria’s ambassador, but as her eyes roamed the trees, Atarah had a feeling of… unfamiliarity. She wet her lips, her nose delicately smelling the air, pointed ears strained to listen.

“Ala,” Atarah murmured softly.

Her horse stopped drinking and lifted her head, looking around at her owner’s gentle warning.

“We should go,” Atarah said at last.

Midway through her mount, Atarah was startled by a scream. She gasped as Ala jumped, almost sending her sprawling backwards into the grass. Flocks of birds took flight from the trees in clouds of white and grey, as startled as Atarah and Ala were.

Atarah looked in the direction of that scream, her eyes scanning the ground. Someone was hurt. Someone was _badly_ hurt.

“North?” She whispered to herself. “Ala,” Atarah said as she mounted, urging her horse to move. “North. Take us north. Go.”

Atarah rode through the trees, her heart jumping out of her chest. She knew that she wouldn’t be prepared for the sight she was about to witness – her training when it came to fighting had been basic at best, and it only truly came from wrestling her siblings in the sands of Suria. But she was driven to that danger, anyways.

She came across a lagoon, beautiful yet strange for its glowing depths, one that she didn’t recognize – it was deeper into the woods than she’d ever ventured.

A splash made her look to the water, and Atarah moved before she could think: unsheathing her sword, she jumped from her horse and landed firmly on both feet, sleek as a feline. She approached the water, and jumped back when a hand grabbed at the boulders.

Atarah stuck her sword to the grass and held on to that hand, pulling hard. Whatever was pulling the male – was it even a male scent? – was strong, impossibly strong, but Atarah’s will was steel. She pushed, as hard as she could, bracing herself on the slippery rocks. The hand felt limp in hers then.

A creature immerged, holding the now unconscious male to its scaley chest. It hissed at her, those needle-like teeth bared at Atarah. She snarled back, picking her sword back up.

“Let him go at once,” Atarah demanded.

The creature’s hands slowly drifted from the male’s chest to his throat, holding him like a lover. Atarah’s eyes were fixed on those black nails that narrowed into sword-like tips.

“Look at you,” the creature cooed, a voice that seemed like three combined, echoing through the forest, reverberating through Atarah’s chest. It hissed at her, “Little Fae girl with the lovely face. Come get him, come meet my depthless place.”

“I know your people,” Atarah snarled. “You are peaceful, where I am from.”

“Not here, little one. Here, we are _hungry_.”

Atarah watched as the creature opened its mouth, leaning into the male’s shoulder-

She pointed her sword at the creature.

It _laughed_.

It was not like any laugh that Atarah had heard in her lifetime – not pleasant, nor happy, but more like two rocks being sliced against each other.

“Let him go,” Atarah said. “Hurting you is the last thing I desire, but if you do not let go, I _will_ do it.”

“Little Fae girl from the mountains and the sea,” the creature mocked, “if she does not watch her back, she will not be able to flee.”

Atarah clenched her teeth. She was wasting time – if the male did not take a breath soon, he would drown with the water in his lungs.

“Give him to me,” Atarah hissed. “Give him to me. _Now_.”

“ _Come get him_.”

“He is a subject of Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen,” Atarah declared firmly. “The Queen’s treaty with your people is very simple. You kill one of ours, you will be putting yourself and your entire people in jeopardy.” Atarah was no fighter, not in the usual sense of the word. She fought with words, and she fought with justice. She was a diplomat. An ambassador. This _had_ to work. “Are you willing to allow destruction to befall your people for one easy meal? Consider my words, for you know I am right. Let him go,” Atarah said. “And _give me the male_.”

The creature’s face transformed. Worry. That was worry in those beady eyes.

It was working. One last push.

“He’s _mine_ ,” Atarah growled with all her might.

The creature narrowed her eyes, and pushed the male into the bank – he fell in a spur of coughs, his wet clothing clinging to him. Atarah kneeled down, and pushed him far away from the glaring creature.

“Little Fae girl with the sword in her hand,” the creature growled, “be ready for the day I will meet you in the sand.”

“Try,” Atarah murmured. “I own the sands. And the seas will answer to me.”

The creature’s glare didn’t leave Atarah until the creature was once again submerged.

Atarah’s horse whinnied in fright, as Atarah turned the male on his back.

Blood. There was blood at his shoulder.

Atarah ripped open the fabric to inspect the wound as he kept coughing water. Scratches, just scratches. They didn’t even seem deep enough to be cause for worry, but she was worried anyway.

Atarah pushed herself back on her heels, watching him warily.

Brown skin, and white hair – he looked oddly familiar, though Atarah knew she had never met him before. She knew some people from Doranelle with the same coloured hair, but that was not the only evidence that this male was not from here – he allowed himself to approach a lagoon, which everyone knew was-

“Who are you?”

She blinked at the sound of his voice. Atarah hadn’t expected it be so-

Pleasant.

Even as croaky as it was, given that he’d just coughed his lungs out.

He struggled to breathe, and Atarah attempted to turn him on his side. Thankfully, he cooperated, spitting more water into the grass.

“I should be asking you,” Atarah said.

The male panted slightly, raised on his forearms, and lowered his head, eyes closed.

“I’m going to get you to Orynth,” Atarah decided. “You need a healer. We’re just an hour away, we will be there soon enough-“

“O-Orynth?” The male said, eyes wide open.

“Yes,” Atarah said with hesitance. “Do you know where you are?”

The male finally turned his eyes to her.

Atarah sat back, slightly startled.

Pine green. 

Beautiful.

Probably the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

They stared at each other, and then Atarah said softly, “I… you’re hurt, we should go. Will you allow me to take you there?”

“Who are you?” The male whispered.

“You can call me Atarah.”

Blood had begun to drip down his pointed ear – another scratch. But the male didn’t seem to care as he rasped out, “Atarah. Thank you for saving my life.” He breathed in. “My name is Oren.”


	9. Chapter 9

The perks of being a twin narrowed down to one single thing: being able to sneak out without barely anyone finding out.

Eldon Lochan, fourth-born, placed his hood over his eyes, looking around the market place before stepping into the shadows and out of anyone’s sights. The lordling of Perranth had a thing for curious trinkets, always had. When he was four years old, he’d found a strange little gem in the stream that crossed Perranth Manor, and everyday after, he’d felt compelled to come back to look for more. Out of all his brothers, Eldon was truly the one to pay attention to detail – but only on things that interested him.

Like old maps, for example.

Do not ask him where he got the dusty old parchment that was now secure inside his cloak. Let’s just say that Eldon knew the right people to bribe, and he’d bribed a _lot_ of people for this little trinket, alright.

You see, Eldon Lochan, unlike his twin, liked to know the origins of everything around him. Howlan contented himself with stories, while Eldon read between lines and pages, more interested in a story’s beginning and eventual ending, rather than its middle. That is what led him to study history, archaeology, geography and everything else in between. He was ever so intrigued about the world around him.

More intrigued, even, about the worlds that lay beyond the one he was born in.

Ancient maps were harder to get your hands on than you would expect. Of course, you’d also have to have an eye for it, lest you come by a fake piece of parchment made to look like the maps of the old worlds. After days of research, of speaking quietly to the right people, Eldon knew that what he’d found was legit.

Orynth greeted him with a tempest.

More guards flanked the gates by order of the Queen. Inside the Palace, Eldon could feel a buzzing energy about the place, a terrifying adrenaline snaking through the halls and taking him by the throat.

He met his family in Orynth’s meeting room.

Eva had arrows strapped to her back.

Howlan met his twin’s eyes from across the room, then came Howlan’s inconspicuous nod – the answer to Eldon’s silent question.

_Does mother know where I have been? Does father?_

_No idea._

Eldon looked away, focusing on the conversation at present. In truth, he could have been honest with his mother instead of asking Howlan to pretend to be him in his absence. But with Ragnar bedridden, Eldon knew that his mother and father would wish him to be close, and with everything going on, he found that he couldn’t possibly defend his leaving and sequentially putting himself in danger’s way with _Oh, I wanted to look for an ancient map of the old world so I could try and solve Luna’s mystery and also because my thirst to understand things makes me restless and slightly paranoid and I’m too anxious to sit still while my brother is definitely not fine._

Eldon feared that that would sound as insane said out loud as it did in his head.

“I say we search Terrasen anyway,” Amara, the Crown Princess, was saying, as she looked at her mother, then at Eva. Lorcan himself nodded in agreement at his daughter-in-law, whilst everyone else seemed to look to Eva for the same agreement.

Eva sighed. “I don’t want to waste time.” She placed her hands flat on the table, closing her eyes. “We’ve already wasted so much of it. Vanserra is not an idiot. He fled Terrasen, Amara. I’m sure of it.”

“What if that’s what he wants you to think?” Rowan was the one to say what his wife was thinking, Rowan who now looked over to Eva with the same worry everyone felt. “He thinks you won’t look through the most obvious places.”

Eva was silent, considering.

Amara touched her shoulder gently. “Evie, we have to look at every option if we wish to catch Vanserra and the people he could possibly be working with.”

“She’s right, sweetheart,” Aedion said gently from the corner of the room.

“Eva,” Aelin murmured, “we want to catch him as much as you do. These people wish to hurt my family, and I truly understand what they could have taken from you that day. But _understand_ that you are being rash, and lack of consideration gets you killed.”

Eva shook her head, beginning to protest, but Aelin touched her hand from across the table. “Listen to me,” Aelin said firmly, “we will catch those responsible, and we will bring justice. But right now, I need to know that you will not throw yourself in danger’s way. For your parents’ sake, for ours, and for you, Eva. For your own safety.”

Eva brushed Aelin’s hand away gently. “I need you all to stop telling me to calm down,” Eva said, deadly quiet.

Eldon knew when someone was very close to exploding, and his friend was frighteningly close. He sighed softly to himself – what he was about to do was a low blow, he knew, but it might the only thing to save Eva from herself.

Eldon said softly, “Evie.”

Eva’s face softened as she turned to him, though her Ashryver eyes were so, so dark, they looked like a tempest come to life. He said to her, “Ragnar needs you right now.”

Everyone around the room looked down at their feet.

Eva stared at Eldon, her face unreadable. At last, she turned to Aelin, and said, “We search Terrasen, then.”

Aelin looked at her daughter. “Send the order, will you?”

Amara nodded once. “Laelia will wish to be a part of this. You know that.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched. He said to Amara, “Keep an eye on your sister, sweetheart.”

“She’s not completed her training yet,” Aelin said softly. “I want to shelter her for a little while longer.” The Queen’s eyes turned irrevocably sad, as she touched a hand to her daughter’s face. “I wished for none of you to experience what we had to at your age. More than anything, I wish it could be different. That you wouldn’t have to fight.”

Amara touched her mother’s hand.

It was Howlan who said, “You’ve given enough. All of you.” He looked to his father, then Aedion, before looking towards the Prince and the Queen. “It’s our turn now.”

***

Eva knew he was awake just by standing on the other side of his door. She heard his breathing shift as Ragnar realized that she had returned.

_Brace yourself._

She had words for him. But that would have to wait – when this was all over, when they could finally be at peace without feeling like they had a target on all their backs… Eva would tell him. She would tell him everything, no matter what came of it. Even if he wished to ignore the bond, she would still tell him, word by word, what her heart wanted, more than anything else in the world.

Soon.

She knocked once, and let herself in.

He still looked strangely grey, but a subtle colour had come back to his cheeks. Eva thought it might be the fever, but as she stepped inside the room and stared at him, she realized it was something else entirely.

“I want to scream at you,” he said through clenched teeth. Angry – that was him being absolutely enraged at her.

Maybe she deserved it.

Eva walked to his bed, and plopped herself down, forcing herself to face him. His hair was slightly damp, and he smelled of flowers. They’d just bathed him.

“Get yourself out of this bed first,” Eva murmured. “Then you can scream at me all you like. Just get better.”

“It’s been two days,” Ragnar said. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Eva looked away.

_Mate._

Of course she’d torn apart that female like she was tearing through cloth. Of course Eva hadn’t hesitated. Of course, of course, of course.

“Andrik told me you went to kill Vanserra,” Ragnar muttered. “Where’s his head?”

“Your brother can never keep a secret,” Eva said.

“What happened.”

Eva shrugged. “He disappeared. I was expecting it. I went back to the cottage to see if I could find anything on the Night Court. Surprise: I got nothing.” A pause. “I did bring it down, though.”

“You brought his house down?”

Eva looked at him. “That is not even close to what I will do to him.”

Ragnar touched her hand then, as if he might pull her to him. He refrained to, however, as if he remembered that he was supposed to be scolding her, and simply said, “You told me you would stay and then left. Again.”

Eva pulled her hand away, burned by his touch. _Mate. Mate. Mate._

That same feeling she got whenever he touched her – that flutter of her heart, as if it might stop beating after all, that heat bubbling at the bottom of her stomach, the tingling in her spine-

It hadn’t stopped.

She said, “Don’t give me a pity party now. You know I had to go.” She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to be a good girl and not get her paws all over him. “Plus, you were unconscious for half of the night, sweating all over me.”

“I’m _sorry_ for my _fever_ , Ashryver, that I have no _control_ over.”

Eva smiled slightly. “When this is all over, you and I can go back to these little bickering sessions. For now, stop talking. Rest. Or I _will_ leave.”

“It’s below you to blackmail me,” Ragnar frowned. Then paused. He stared at her for a while, before turning his eyes to the window, thoughtful. “So that’s how it’s going to be?”

“Hm?”

“That’s what we’ll go back to? Bickering?”

Eva’s heart dropped to her stomach.

_Don’t say it don’t say it don’t-_

She breathed in once. “Yes,” she murmured. “Of course.”

“Of course,” he echoed.

Eva watched him for a long second, then looked down at her hands. What she wouldn’t give to make him understand without saying the words. What she wouldn’t give to have Ragnar understand exactly how much her heart craved him, without her having to ruin it all by attempting to express or show it.

“How are you feeling?” She asked instead.

“Tired, but the ash is out,” he said. “Fever’s gone.”

“You still look like shit.”

“And yet here you are,” Ragnar said, turning his eyes to her. “Still lusting after me.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

He smiled then. Unexpectedly.

His hair was still curling from the steam of his bath, drying in gentle waves and falling over his eyes. Eva saw his bare chest rise and fall with each steady breath, and as she heard his unwavering heart, she wondered how she would ever be able to live if the last time she’d heard it had been that day, when Vanserra tried to take him from her.

His smile, however-

It was not often he gave her that smile – that lopsided grin, something between a smirk and a smile of mockery, showing sharp teeth. Her heart was momentarily shaken by it.

She was breathless.

“You’re flushed,” Eva noticed then, staring at his neck, his cheeks, with a frown on her face. “Has your fever come back?”

Eva leaned in, pressing her lips to his forehead. Yes, he was warm, but-

Ragnar touched her chin, making her look at him. “It’s not the fever,” he whispered, and kissed her.

She’d missed him.

She’d missed him.

_Gods. I missed him._

Eva breathed him in as his lips pressed against hers, surprise giving in to relief. _He’s here and he’s okay and he’s mine._

She could question that last part later.

Eva touched his cheeks, so gently, breaking the kiss, so slowly, to stare at him as if in a daze. “I… you’re still recovering-“ But he had his arms around her, and he was pulling her into his lap, and Eva was still in her riding leathers, her weapons long gone.

Ragnar said nothing at first, just started at her, his lips a breath away. His hand curved on her waist, thumb drawing circles underneath her shirt, and Eva almost wanted to break then, she almost wanted to tell him, she almost- “So this,” he said after a moment’s pause, both hands sliding underneath her shirt for emphasis. Her heart picked up speed and those fingers brushed her skin, velvet-soft, his caress. “This is what we’ll go back to. And only this.”

She didn’t have words.

Didn’t know her own name as Ragnar’s hands moved to her back, following the path up her spine to her undergarments. He toyed with the fabric, waiting for an answer she didn’t have.

“Yes,” she forced out.

“You sure?”

Eva’s eyes fluttered closed. She was struggling to take air into her lungs. She might die. She might die ten times over just to hear his voice that close to her again.

Ragnar’s hands moved to her sides, his thumb skimming the underside of her breast. “Really?” He whispered against her jaw.

“You,” she breathed, “are in no shape.”

“Keep telling me everything I’m not, Ashryver,” he said. “I will show you the exact opposite.”

He kissed her neck then, chaste little kisses on her skin that did nothing in her favour except set her on fire. “Ragnar,” she said, but it sounded like a plea.

His hands drifted to her hips, and he pulled, or rather _yanked_ , her closer. Eva swallowed hard, her fingers slowly working through the strands of his hair-

_Knock. Knock._

Ragnar snarled into her neck, his hands keeping a tight hold on her.

“It’s the healer,” she whispered.

“Let her leave.”

“Ragnar-“

He silenced her with his lips, his kiss deep and filled with so much longing that Eva’s body turned into water, slipping right between his fingers. But-

She forced herself to pull back, grabbing hold of his wrist as his hand moved down her body. Grabbing hold of the other one as he tried to do the same again. “Not now,” she begged. “Please.”

Before he could answer her, Eva untangled herself from him – with great difficulty, might she add – and went to open the door as quick as she possibly could.

The healer was a woman in her mid-thirties, a human all too used to Fae and their… slowness to open doors. She bowed to Eva, then went straight to Ragnar to take his temperature.

From over the poor woman’s shoulder, Ragnar’s eyes met hers, promising all kinds of wonderful, sinful things still to come.

***

When Atarah’s horse managed to arrive at the Gates of Orynth, night had fallen, and Oren was so close to passing out that, when Atarah dismounted, she had to catch him in her arms the moment he slipped off the horse.

Atarah struggled to keep him up. _Gods_ , he was heavy. And too tall, even for Fae standards.

“Ala, here,” she managed to get out. The horse followed her rider and the unconscious Fae male in her arms, trailing close by in a protective manner.

Atarah blinked in astonishment when she found a row of soldiers barricading the Gates, spears and swords aimed at her. When Atarah came into view, Oren in her arms, their faces transformed as they recognized her at last. A young soldier stared at Oren almost in disbelief, before looking up at her and bowing his head.

“My Lady,” he said. “Who do you carry with you?”

Atarah blinked. Her arms had begun to shake. Didn’t the soldiers see that the male needed tending?

“His name is Oren,” she explained breathlessly. “I found him near the edge of the Woods, he was attacked. Please, allow us in at once.”

The soldiers looked at each other. “My Lady, forgive me, but I need to know if he’s armed-”

Atarah did not lose her patience often.

But she found she was very close to doing so.

“He’s not armed, Sir,” Atarah proceeded. “I have been riding with him all afternoon. Clearly the night has not disrupted your vision. See for yourself. He’s bleeding, and he’s exhausted and he _needs_ a healer.” She narrowed her eyes. “Am _I_ not worthy of your trust?”

“Lady of Suria,” the male said nervously, “of course. This is just protocol.”

Without another word, Atarah elbowed her way through the soldiers, her trembling arms almost giving out. The soldiers opened up the Gates, and let her through.

“Ala, come,” she said to her horse.

“My lady,” said the same soldier from before. “Allow me to help. Please. As my apology for taking up so much of your time.”

Atarah hesitated.

For some reason, her arms refused to allow Oren to be passed to the soldier. She clung to him a little, though she, too, was exhausted, and she knew that delaying Oren’s treatment would only make things worse.

Goddess. What a day it had been.

Sighing, Atarah begrudgingly allowed the soldier to take Oren off her arms.

She almost collapsed.

“My Lady?”

Her head was spinning.

“Take him,” she said faintly. “Take him to a healer now.”

She closed her eyes momentarily. Focus. _Focus_.

When she opened her eyes, another soldier stood in front of her, worry in her features. “I’m okay,” Atarah said to the female. “I’m okay.”

“My Lady, please,” the soldier said as Atarah begun to follow the male who carried Oren. “I think you need to sit down. May I bring you to the infirmary?”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” Atarah said in reassurance. “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

The female stood by, watching her go with slight concern. But Atarah didn’t trust anyone else with Oren, and she needed to see exactly where they were taking him.

The infirmary of Orynth felt echo-y and lonely. Atarah stood by firmly while a healer tended to him. A little voice in the back of her mind kept reminding her that she hadn’t made her presence known as of yet, and that was not how you walked into a Queen’s home, but concern tore at her every nerve, and her feet would not move.

“Well?” Atarah said to the healer, who had been inspecting Oren for a good while.

The male threw a glance her way, which made Atarah’s hair at the back of her neck stand, the same way it had when she’d faced that creature in the lagoon.

“The female mind is so impatient,” the healer murmured, turning his eyes back to the patient.

Oh. _Oh_.

Atarah clenched her jaw. “Maybe the male mind is just too slow,” she whispered sweetly.

And cursed herself a little for it. It was not in her nature to fight fire with fire, but it had been a long day, and she couldn’t quite control her tongue and temper. Nor could she avoid the little spark of satisfaction when the healer’s mouth quirked into a sneer.

“Atarah!”

Luna Moonbeam practically ran into her, her nightgown flowing behind her. Atarah almost stumbled back with the force of that embrace.

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry,” Luna said, unwrapping her arms from her friend. “I just can’t believe you’re here. You got my letter?”

“I did,” Atarah said, and touched her friend’s hand. “Thank you for your warning.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Luna murmured to her, squeezing her hand once. “You should be at home, _safe_.”

“I couldn’t stand by and watch, you know that,” Atarah said. They’d grown up together, after all. “I want to help.”

Luna opened her mouth to answer her, but then it was like she remembered that they were in the infirmary, and for a reason. Atarah watched Luna’s eyes skim the strange male, unblinking. The Lady of Suria almost wanted to step in front of Oren, to block out Luna’s view of him.

Which was… irrational.

“My guard told me you’d reached the Gates a few minutes ago,” Luna murmured, without taking her eyes off Oren’s unconscious form. “She didn’t tell me you’d brought company.”

“I found him,” Atarah said. “He was seconds from being devoured by a selkie. I had to bring him here.”

Luna’s eyes widened as they turned back to her friend. “Seven hells,” Luna whispered. “You did well in bringing him here, but-“ She paused. “Atarah, have you eaten anything all afternoon? You look…” Luna blinked. “You look like death.”

Atarah hadn’t thought of that. “I was too preoccupied with getting him here.”

Her friend sighed heavily. “Come,” she said, tugging at Atarah’s hand. “I’ll prepare you something to eat and some hot tea to warm you. You’re as cold as the sea. We have much to talk about – I will fill you in on everything.”

But Atarah’s feet stayed firmly planted there, even when Luna began walking.

Luna halted. “What’s wrong?”

Atarah’s palms were beginning to sweat. She could feel her heart slowly becoming riddled with anxiousness, a strange feeling that something terrible was going to happen prickling at her.

“Atarah?”

Atarah looked to the healer, then back to Oren.

“I can’t leave him,” Atarah whispered, more of a realization than an explanation.

Luna’s hand did not leave hers. She stared at Atarah for a solid moment, before turning her eyes to Oren. Something crossed her eyes, but Atarah couldn’t quite catch what it had been.

“Ah,” Luna softly said. “I can have my personal guard watch him. Will that reassure you?”

Maybe. Not exactly.

Luna smiled softly, and touched her friend’s shoulder. “He’s fine. Look at him. He’s probably just exhausted. He doesn’t look like he’s from anywhere around here, maybe he journeyed too long without rest, plus the incident with the selkie…”

“Yes,” Atarah smiled slightly, “that hair of his is quite a given clue.”

Luna’s eyes narrowed slightly, analysing.

Atarah quickly said, “I think he’s from Doranelle.”

“Why would he be here, I wonder,” Luna said.

“He could barely speak whilst we were riding,” said Atarah. “But he said he needed to have an audience with the Queen.”

Luna paused. “Whatever it might be, it should be important, if he came all this way.” Her friend looked at him again. “He looks…”

Atarah snapped her eyes to Luna. “What?”

Luna pursed her lips. “Nothing, I… for a moment he looked familiar. Come now. We shall ask Calia, my guard, to see to him.” Luna looked to the healer. “May I ask you to check up on him during the night? I want to be informed if he runs a fever, or if any changes of his wellbeing occur.”

The healer nodded once, and said, “He just needs rest, My Lady. But I assure you I will be watching him.”

Luna looked at Atarah.

“Okay,” Atarah murmured. “Okay. Yes, let’s go.”

As Luna took her away, Atarah couldn’t help but look at him over her shoulder one more time, just to assure herself that he wasn’t some sort of vision, and that that day hadn’t just been one big, strange, nightmarish dream.

***

She’d forgotten her clothes.

The moment Seren had turned to go to bed after Luna had left him, the sight of her shift still drying in the chair near the fireplace caught his eye, and he’d realized that she’d left with his own clothes on.

Some sick, desperate part of him delighted at the prospect that she would come back to retrieve her clothes, and he would have an excuse to see her again. The rational, level-headed part of him then cringed, leading him to shake his head at his own stupidity. Seren would have to stop hoping for Luna to come back, for there would be a time when her goodbyes would be final – if her last one hadn’t been already – and Seren would have to deal with that.

Dawn creeped closer and closer.

With sadness wrapped around his heart, Seren walked to his balcony, and spread his wings. He caught the breeze, and he let it take him to his cousin’s house. But by the time he’d managed to land on Naza’s roof, he realized his cousin was nowhere inside. He waited then, sitting on her roof, as he used to do when they were children – he’d needed her council even then.

As he stared at the rising sun, Seren thought of Luna.

He might never see her again, and he might never come to love her. As of right now, there was only a crazed fascination with her that led him to despise everything about his instincts. He barely knew the girl. And yet, two nights spent talking to her, and the saddest thing of all is that he really _could_ see him loving her, in a way he would never be capable of loving anyone else. The spark was there. It just hadn’t been given chance to burst into flames.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Throughout his life, Seren had very few lovers. He’d been too shy with most of them, not exactly unwilling but somehow hesitant to share parts of himself with anyone outside of his family. He was aware that he was plagued by the fear that someone could potentially _not_ love him. Maybe for his slightly narcissistic ways, or maybe it was simply the fact that he hadn’t wished to develop anything further with any of them because, unconsciously, he’d been waiting for Luna all along.

It was all so fucked up.

Stars and bonds be damned.

It was not until a few minutes later that his cousin flew over to him, surely after catching his scent in the wind. Naza Archeron sat by him, wings folding behind her.

“So, I’m fucked,” was his starting line.

“Who did it this time?” Naza drawled, looking at her chipped nails. “A male?”

Seren gave her a sideways glance, but allowed his mouth to quirk into a smile when his cousin elbowed him. There was something heavy weighing on her mind, he knew, for the way her brows furrowed together, her gaze distant. But before he could ask, Naza said to him:

“Luna has returned, I see.”

“How-“

“Her scent is all over you. I could smell it from a mile away.”

“I technically took a bath with her,” Seren murmured.

Naza widened her eyes, snapping her eyes to him. It was not often that he caught his cousin off guard, but when he did, Seren truly did amuse himself looking at the way her face transformed – from calculating calm, to absolute astonishment.

Her lips pulled back as she said, “Explain.”

“She teleported right into my bath,” Seren said, “while I was in it.”

Naza blinked. “That’s what I call a grand opening.”

“You call everything a grand opening,” Seren drawled. “Three days ago, Astrid flew into a wall because of her shadows and you called that a grand opening.”

“She was spectacularly drunk,” Naza said. “And it _did_ open a huge hole in the wall…”

“I am two puns away from bursting into tears,” Seren said. “ _Please_.”

“Do go on, cousin,” Naza sung, lying down on the roof tiles, a lazy bat out of its cave, bathing in the sunshine. “This story is sure to give me back pains but also riveting laughter.”

“Luna left her nightshift on my chair. She left with my clothes.”

Naza raised her brows. “Meaning she might come back.”

“Meaning that she might say _screw it_ , and _not_ come back at all,” Seren said. “Like, ever.”

His heart hurt just by saying it.

_Why?_ he wanted to scream to the skies. _I do not know this person._

“Why do instincts have to plague us?” He whispered. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for _her_.”

Naza scoffed. “But you did, you mountainous idiot. Remember that day, on the roof? You talked about missing someone you never met, and you said that it was like sensing danger and not knowing where it was coming from. You’d been feeling like that for months,” Naza said. “ _Your_ words. Night comes, and then you wake up to find her on your bed. You asked for that feeling to end. And it did. The stars brought you Luna. That’s your ending.”

Seren said nothing. He ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

Naza continued in a softer tone: “You cannot expect it to be easy, Seren.”

“It’s definitely not easy considering my mate is literally _from a whole other world_.”

“So you got it hard, booooo,” Naza said to him. “Stop moaning about it. You want her? Then get her, you buffoon.”

“You might have insulted me, like, three times since you arrived.”

“That’s precisely what you need,” Naza said, rising into a sitting position, her wings fluttering with her irritation. “You need someone to shake some sense into you, and thankfully, that’s me. Look, Seren, mating bonds are not easy. Look at my mother and father, for example,” Naza gestured. “Cauldron, look at yours!” A pause. “You know, using our parents for reference might not be a great idea-”

“Those stories are not exactly encouraging, no,” Seren mumbled.

“You might not have the love you wished for all your life,” Naza said. “However, mating bonds don’t mean shit. Except, when they do. Sometimes the stars do a good job – how will you know if matching you and Luna together was a bad decision if you do not try to know this girl? Tell her, Seren. Next time she comes back, you grow some balls, and you tell her the truth. See for yourself if this mating bond means something.”

Seren frowned. “She might never come back, so that kind of sucks for one.” He stared at his cousin. “Then also, I don’t know her world and I don’t know the customs, Naz. Try explaining a mating bond to someone who might not have a single clue of what you’re talking about. I will sound like a creep. I will scare her away for good this time.”

Naza went silent for a long while. When Seren thought she had given up, Naza said, “Do you miss her? Do you long for her, even if you don’t yet love her?”

Seren closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“There’s your answer,” Naza murmured. “If there is _something_ , don’t let go, Seren. Or you will regret it.” She turned to him. “Luna will come back.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I’m just that good.”

“You’re arrogant, that’s what you are, and absolutely out of your mind,” Seren said. “But I want to believe you, more than anything in the world.”

“And _when_ she does come back, you will get to know her. You will ask her things. You will charm her, the way you charm everyone. And if her heart calls out for you, too, then you will know. If you sit by, then you can be sure of one thing only: that _nothing_ will happen. You won’t know the end of the story.”

“Endings are hard,” he said. “Beginnings are harder.”

“The middle makes it worth it,” Naza said. “Or so I was told.”

Seren lied down on the roof, and Naza joined him. He squeezed her hand once. “Thank you.” A pause, as he looked at her. “Now, what’s on your mind?”

“I bring news, actually,” Naza said, her tone heavy. “I just came back from Rhys’ house. My mother was there, too.”

“What’s happened?”

Naza breathed in. “The High Lord of Spring is dead, Seren,” she said. “The crown will go to his only son. We are to witness the coronation.”

Seren froze. “Tamlin is dead?” A pause. “What killed him?”

“I don’t know,” Naza said. “None of us do. The note did not say.”

A pause.

“Andras will be High Lord.” Andras – who he considered a friend. Now, the weight of the crown rested on his head and his father was dead. Seren breathed out a long, weary sigh. “Fuck.”

“I know.”

“Do you think Andras will be okay?”

Naza shrugged. “I don’t know. I only met him twice. You’re the one that’s friends with him.”

“I should go early,” Seren murmured. “Before you all.”

Naza did not answer, and Seren looked to the skies. “Tamlin, dead.”

“I need a good drink after this night,” Naza murmured. “I’m going through your stash.”

“Is that a question?”

“Obviously not.” Naza rose on the roof, spreading her wings, gesturing for her cousin to follow. “I’m _telling_ you I’m going to steal your booze.”

Seren sighed. “I guess I could share it.” With one last look at Naza, both of them took to the skies, in the direction of his townhouse.

Somehow, his wings had never felt heavier.

***

When they walked through Seren’s front door, he knew something was wrong. 

Seren and Naza shared a look, and he barely managed to fully close his wings when he marched through the hall and into the parlour-

To see Aidan, sitting on the ground.

His head in his hands.

“Aidan,” Seren said, kneeling in front of his brother.

Naza stopped near the archway, taking in the strange scent Aidan brought with him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Aidan was saying.

“What happened?” Seren almost yelled.

Aidan looked up into his brother’s eyes. They were red-rimmed.

“I found her,” Aidan murmured.

“Oh,” Naza whispered, understanding. “Shit.”

Seren swallowed down the lump in his throat. He knew it. He’d known it as soon as he walked through that front door. He’d known it just by looking at his brother alone, and remembering exactly how he himself had felt the first time he looked at Luna.

Still, he asked, “Who did you find, brother?”

“My mate.” Aidan let his head fall on his knees again. “I found my mate.”


	10. Chapter 10

Before you think badly of him, you should know two things:

Aidan Archeron was not very good at lying. That is to say: he was unquestionably, unarguably, absolutely, _terrible_ at it.

And he had never, in his twenty-four years on this earth, _ever_ expected to look up at the stars and have them tell him, to his face, _Hey, so, yes, you do have a mate, and she will be very much out of your grasp and league._

The stars had indeed put Aidan in a _very_ sticky situation.

When he’d entered that store that smelled of coffee and sweets with a human girl who’d smiled at him with the sort of kindness that strangers did not usually spare him, not even in his own world, Aidan had been hesitant to follow her to say the least.

He should have run the other way.

She’d asked him what he wanted, and Aidan hadn’t known what else to say except a mumbled “Coffee?” that made her smile, for reasons he did not know. Not even a minute later, she was back with a cup for him, and some kind of sweet tea for her.

She smelled like peaches.

And Aidan felt so ashamed that he even noticed such a thing.

Even more ashamed that he imagined leaning toward her, rest his head on the crook of her neck, pull back those loose curls and breathe her in-

“Aidan,” she’d said – María was her name. A strange name to go with the strange feeling she brought up in him. “I must say, I think you look very familiar to me. Have we met before?”

Ah, _fuck_.

_What is it about you?_ He’d wanted to ask her then. _Why do all these faces mean nothing except yours?_

“I don’t think so,” he’d said, turning his eyes to his steaming cup, and then to the stack of books she’d plopped on the windowsill next to their table. “You’re a student.”

She’d smiled at him. “Yes, I’m almost finished, actually.”

“What are you studying, if it’s not too intrusive?”

“Not at all,” she’d said, almost shy. “I’m studying to become a doctor.” Aidan had started at that, confused about what the word meant, but not wishing to make it obvious. Thankfully, María continued, “I’ve always wanted to help people, you know?” She took a sip of her tea, and Aidan tried very hard not to stare at her for too long. He’d been unsettled, for some reason. “I think one of the best ways I can do that is to heal them.”

_Heal_.

His mind had sparked with light. She was a _healer_.

“That’s…” Aidan had stopped himself from speaking, because the words got caught up in his throat. He’d cleared it once, twice, and had tried a smile. “Do you enjoy it? Studying?”

“Mostly, yes,” she’d said. “What do _you_ enjoy?”

Aidan had paused for a moment too long. “Knowledge.”

“That’s very vague.” María had narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. “You’re very vague. I’ve not yet figured you out.”

“You don’t want to figure me out,” he’d said, a little too quickly.

He’d sipped his coffee, cursing himself.

Aidan had realized how absolutely creepy that sounded to someone he’d only just met. But María hadn’t looked frightened of him, and he hadn’t been able to smell a whiff of fear from her. She’d looked… almost sad.

“Oh,” she’d murmured, wrapping her hands around her cold tea. “Why not?”

Mentally, he’d kicked himself twice over.

“I reckon you’ll be disappointed,” he’d said, opting for a small portion of the truth – or what he _thought_ would be the truth. “There is not much of myself that is interesting.”

“I doubt it,” she’d said. “I mean, you are…”

Oh. _Oh_.

And then she’d _blushed_.

Right in front of him, her hazel eyes had lowered to the table, a little panic striking that face, her lips pushed back in a grimace – like someone who’d said a little too much, and was now regretting it entirely.

He’d liked that.

He’d liked that colour on her cheeks so much, that Aidan’s voice had dropped into a murmur, as he’d asked her, “What am I?” He’d leaned his elbows on the table.

Aidan had been able to hear her heart then, beating a little quicker than it was supposed to.

Human hearts were frighteningly unstable – fragile, too. As she’d talked, his Fae ears (glamoured, of course), hadn’t been able to ignore the strange rhythm of it. It was quieter than the Fae, and it could rapidly go from a soothing clock-hand ticking each second, to a woodpecker going absolutely nuts on a tree bark.

“I don’t know,” she’d said softly, as if deciding that would be the best route to take. “But I’d like to find out.”

Consider him _stunned_.

“Would you?” He’d said, unable to raise his voice beyond a whisper.

Her eyes had met his, and Aidan had forced himself to remain very, very still, because in that same moment, her hair had fallen over one of her eyes, and he’d very much wanted to reach out a hand and tuck it behind her ear, but that could not be, no, no, _no way_ , because he was a stranger to her, and she was a stranger to him, and that-

“Aidan,” she’d murmured.

His gaze had come back into focus to see her eyes slightly wider, staring at him. Oh. Oh Gods-

Aidan had taken a second to check his glamour: his ears were still round, his wings were still gone-

María had placed her hands flat on the table. “Your eyes,” she’d said. “They…” She’d blinked, and in turn, Aidan had raised a brow at her, his stomach a turmoil. “I swear they changed colour then.”

“Probably the lights,” he’d said, swallowing down his nervousness. Fuck. _Fuck_. “Yours change, too,” Aidan had quickly added, mainly to distract her, and mostly to keep himself from telling her everything that he was. You see – terrible liar. “I swear they’re green now.”

She’d smiled at him, but it was a hesitant, almost analysing smile, as she’d leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She hadn’t let that go – no, this girl, she was no fool. This would not be the type of girl to go by his words and believe him just like that. She’d known what she’d saw. And it was like Aidan had been able to see right into her mind, and felt her suspicion as if it were his own.

But she was still there.

“How long are you going to be around?” She’d asked then.

He’d read her eyes. Aidan knew – he _knew_ what her plan was. She was trying to figure him out.

And she wasn’t going down without a little persistence.

The possibility that she might be onto him made his palms sweaty. But Aidan had answered as casually as he could, “For a while.”

For a while?

_For a while?_

_You live in another goddamned world._

_…that can easily be accessed from this world, and vice-versa…_

Thankfully, María could not see his internal argument.

“For a while,” she’d repeated quietly. “Again, a vague answer.” She’d smiled in a teasingly, friendly way, that had made his insides turn to mush.

His blood had begun to boil.

Was he running a fever out of the blue?

He’d been panicking under her gaze.

“Would you, perhaps…” _Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t. Walk away. Leave. **Leave** , Aidan._ “Would you like to meet again, another day?”

Like he said: please, don’t think badly of him. 

He could admit that he was weak, and foolish, and rash, and maybe his feelings were all wrong, and his head was certainly not in its right place, because Aidan should not be forming any sort of attachment to this girl – yes, yes, he’d known that. He’d known that as soon as the words had fell out of his big mouth, but she’d smiled at him, and he’d crumbled, and suddenly Aidan had been able to see brighter colours all around him.

And he was a _terrible liar._

_It won’t end well_ , his mind told him. _This will not end well for her – nor for you._

But María had smiled at him, and she’d said, “Okay.”

One of the hardest things to accept is when you know, deep down in the hidden depths of your heart, in that place that only few are able to see and be let in, that something will definitely not end well. You know, and you still let yourself crave it, desire it, wish it, need it.

Because when you let yourself want something that, in the end, might destroy you, the consequences are thrown out the window like unwanted feelings.

And those endings always seem so far away.

***

They’d walked through the streets with nowhere to go.

They’d talked, about random, vague things, and she’d smiled at him some more, and he’d offered to carry some of her books, and she’d liked that. Aidan had tried to read some of the titles, out of shameless curiosity, but the symbols had been completely unknown to him.

She’d told him about her lessons, and some of her dreams.

Aidan couldn’t tell her any of his without taking off his mask.

Night had been slowly approaching when they’d stopped near the beach Aidan had come from. María had stared at the ocean with gentle longing in her eyes, and Aidan had wanted to ask-

But he’d refrained from it.

He’d already done so much damage that day.

They’d set a date and a time. He’d meet her again.

The prospect shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he’d said.

She’d smiled, in a way that was already familiar to him, and had said, “Thank you for the company.”

Her eyes had turned slightly sad then, as her gaze tore away from him to the sea again.

He really, _really_ hadn’t meant to ask.

“What is it?” He’d whispered.

_Fuck_.

María had shaken her head. “I’m thinking too much of it,” she’d whispered, almost to herself. Then her gaze had returned to his, and something had crossed her eyes. “I’ve been having a reoccurring nightmare. I guess I just tend to look into dreams too much. It probably means nothing.”

“Dreams always have a significant weight in our decisions,” he’d said to her. “They can even tell the future, sometimes.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I do,” he’d said, so softly.

María had furrowed her brows, and mumbled, “I guess.”

A pause. “Do you wish to tell me?”

She’d turned to him. Another pause. The way her eyes analysed him… Aidan knew she saw too much. This girl would never be content with watching the surface of the water. She would always have to put a hand in.

That was what terrified him the most.

That, and the fact that he really did want her to break that surface.

But-

_No. That cannot be._

“For three nights now,” she’d sighed heavily. “I’ve been dreaming of a cave, crumbling down. I’ve never even been to a cave. It always starts with me walking into it, and then running back out the moment I feel the ground trembling. I stand back and I watch the rocks falling down, and the cave is no longer there. I have no way back in. Why I would ever wish to go is the question, really.”

Silenc e.

Absolute silence.

For a few moments, Aidan had lost his grip on some of the glamour he’d placed on her, and then her voice had been a string of nonsensical sounds to him, flowy words that he could not comprehend. 

He’d stood there, frozen. His bones coated with ice.

In the back of his mind, he’d known that he’d been staring at her, and that little warning voice had told him stop, _stop, look away now, you look crazy, look away before-_

No. No. _No_.

“What,” he’d whispered.

She’d spoken. He hadn’t gotten a word.

_Glamour_ , he’d remembered then, his internal voice cutting through the chaos of his mind. _The glamour slipped._

Attempting to concentrate through the loud thrum of his heart and the pounding in his head, Aidan had managed to let his glamour embrace María again. 

She’d been creasing her forehead with worry. “Are you feeling alright? You looked like you were about to pass out for a moment there,” she’d laughed – a quiet, nervous little sound. “Maybe you should have eaten something.”

“Yes,” he’d answered, trying – and failing – to keep his voice levelled. “Yes, I should have.” A pause. _Control it. Control it. Keep it in, Aidan_. “I… that dream really is, hum… sounds scary.”

María had smiled then, not at all nervous. “It was! The funniest part is that I always wake up feeling as if I might cry over crumbling rocks. Dream me really wanted to go into that cave. Maybe to seek some kind of treasure? I don’t know, honestly. Dream María does the strangest things.”

“Dream Aidan is the same thing,” he’d whispered.

A pause, as they’d stared at each other, her smile still playing on her lips. Her eyes had been shining. Two stars gazing up at him.

_No. No. No. No._

_Cauldron, no._

“I should go home,” he’d said then, turning his eyes away from her. “I… yes, I should go home.”

“Okay,” María had said, and gratefully accepted her books back, staring up at him. “Aidan, it was very nice to save you from having your legs broken by a bicycle.”

He’d laughed. His voice had been leaning towards hysterics.

“Thank you,” he’d said, uneasily.

“So, you’ll come back,” she’d said, not exactly a question, but doubt ringing in her voice.

_No. I can’t._

“Yes, of course.”

_Fuck._

The smile she’d given him should have put him on his knees, and it almost fucking did.

“Okay,” she’d said, backing away with a wave of her hand. “Same place.”

“Same place.”

Endings never look painful at first sight.

That’s because we choose to ignore their eventual existence, and so, they just feel too far away.

And Aidan was too far gone.

***

“You asked her to meet you again?”

Naza stared at her cousins, her eyes digging into Seren’s back at his tone.

Aidan, head still between his knees, had murmured, “ _Fuck_ , yes. Yes. Oh, Cauldron boil me alive, what have I done?”

“How are you sure?” Naza asked.

Aidan looked up with a ferocity in his eyes that made Naza – _Naza_ – take a step back. He’d snarled, “She described my dream – that was also _her_ dream – perfectly. And I know what I feel.”

“Shit,” Naza whispered.

Seren sat with his brother on the floor of his parlour, staring at Naza in hopelessness.

“What the fuck,” Aidan said, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the stars. As if he could wrap his claws around them and choke each one to death. “What the _fuck_. Mating bonds are supposed to be _rare_. Like one in a million sort of shit.”

“It’s really unsettling how much you curse when you’re angry,” Naza muttered. And then she straightened, “Listen, Aidan-”

“Don’t go,” Seren murmured.

Silence.

“Don’t go,” Seren repeated, turning to look at his brother. “It’ll only result in more heartbreak for you, and you know it. She’s human. She’ll not even get to live a quarter of your life.”

“Seren,” Naza hissed.

“He’s right,” Aidan said, closing his eyes, and leaning his head against the wall. “I wish it was not true, but it is. I could never explain this to her.”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Naza said to both of them. “Look at your pathetic selves. You,” she pointed a finger at Seren, “you have a mate, who is Fae, who’s most likely thinking of you right now as we speak, and you refuse to tell her the truth. You’re luckier than any of us might ever get to be.” That finger turned to Aidan. “And you. So your mate’s mortal. So what? You know you can have a bond be made between you.”

“And turn her immortal?” Aidan said, deadpan. “So she can kiss her family, her friends, her _life_ goodbye and I swoop her up in my arms and have her adapt to our world?”

“There are countless solutions to both your problems,” Naza said, crossing her arms. “But the one thing you should do is…go on. What is it?”

Silence.

The brothers looked at each other, confusion in each their faces.

“You idiotic males…” Naza sighed heavily. “How about you _talk_ to them? Have you thought of that? Hum? Not keeping secrets? Not making decisions for females? Letting them choose? Hum hum? Get to know them, be honest, and stop acting like the world’s about to end.”

There was a long, long pause. Naza sat down on the ground with her cousins, sharing their silence.

“Look,” she said, softer now, as she placed a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Whatever you choose to do, both of you, just be considerate to yourselves, but also to them. It’s not only about you.”

Seren nodded solemnly, and then cast his eyes downwards, staring at his hand as if he could imagine Luna holding on to it.

It was Aidan that spoke, after a pause, “You’re right,” he whispered. “I can’t hurt her.”

“What are you going to do?” Seren asked.

Aidan opened his mouth to answer, but then three pairs of eyes turned to the windows the moment they heard the booming of large wings. Naza smelled the air.

“Astrid,” she said, frowning, rising to open Seren’s door. “At this hour?”

The moment Naza opened the door, Astrid’s gentle features came into view, shadows about her person. Their cousin’s usual smile was wiped from her features, and something troublesome crossed her eyes as both Seren and Aidan rose to meet her in the entryway.

“Something happened,” Naza said – not a question.

Astrid let herself into the house, fluttering her wings in agitation behind her. Her caramel hair swayed loosely, as if she’d just got out of bed.

“My mother had a vision,” Astrid said.

The Archeron brothers looked at each other.

Astrid’s shadows became darker as she spoke, “Father and I were up in the camps all afternoon, but aunt Feyre had whispered to me that my mother had been feeling off all day, so we came home early. She seemed fine. She’d even laughed at my father’s shadows during dinner. And then…” Astrid swallowed hard. “Later, we woke up with her screaming. I rushed into the room to find father holding her.” Astrid’s eyes scanned them all.

“What was the vision?” Seren was almost too afraid to ask, by Astrid’s expression.

“She saw Fae. High Fae, from the look of them. But she said they were strange, and they spoke just as strangely, and they’d come here, to our Court, to kill us all.” Astrid’s wings trembled. “They brought war.”

***

Oren woke up with the feeling that he was being watched.

A guard – a female, stared at him.

Memories of the afternoon chased after him – the selkie, the scratches on his arm and chest, water in his lungs, a female, pointing her sword-

“Welcome back,” the voice said.

She had a lilting voice, like birdsong, golden tresses that she twisted in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and a heavy-looking dagger that rested at the side of her hip, even as she sat by him, keeping guard.

“Hum,” Oren murmured groggily. “I’m… where am I?”

“You’re in Orynth,” the guard said. “I’m Calia, by the way. I’m Lady Luna’s personal guard. She’s asked me to look after you.”

“Lady Luna?” Oren said, stomach turning. “I’m in Orynth?”

“You look better,” Calia said, examining him. “They fed you hours ago, but I reckon you don’t remember that, do you?” When Oren shook his head, Calia continued, “Yeah, you were in pretty bad shape when you arrived here. You exhausted yourself. If Lady Atarah hadn’t brought you in when she did, I am afraid that your body would have shut down.”

_Atarah_.

The girl with the sword. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to picture her face, but in the same second, a dizzying pain in his head made him groan slightly.

“You should rest.”

“No,” Oren murmured. “I need to have an audience with the Queen. It is of the utmost urgency.”

“I’m afraid that will have to wait until morning,” Calia said with a slight smile. “It’s the middle of the night, and in a few minutes, I’ll be changing shifts. The Queen is sleeping, and you should be sleeping, too.”

When Calia rose, Oren reached for her, stopping her. “Wait,” he said, a little too desperately.

Calia’s kind eyes snapped to him. “Yes?”

“Atarah,” he said. “Where is she? Is she well?”

“She’s sleeping.”

“I… I did not thank her,” Oren said, almost to himself. “She didn’t just bring me in. She almost killed a selkie that was seconds away from drowning me.”

Calia blinked. “Lady Atarah?”

“The very same.”

Calia let out a long, winded sigh. “Dear Gods, I should have asked her to see a healer, too. She was worried for you, you know. The poor soul – she looked like death.”

From helping him.

She’d helped him out of the goodness of her heart. A stranger. When it would have been much easier to let him die.

“Please, rest,” Calia said. “Unless you wish to make everyone worry even more for you. And unless you wish to spend more time on that bed.”

Oren looked toward the window. It was pitch black. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d speak to the Queen, and he’d warn her of the threat.

“Thank you,” he said to her, exhaustion and pain bringing his eyelids almost closed.

Calia smiled gently. “You said her name.”

Oren blinked. “What?”

“Atarah,” Calia explained. “You repeated her name in your sleep.” A pause. “Don’t worry. I won’t say a thing.”

Oren turned his flushed face away. “I… thank you.”

Calia nodded curtly, and said, “Another guard will watch over you now.” She backed away.

“Why am I being watched?” Oren had to ask. “Am I under suspicion?”

Calia seemed shocked that he’d ask that. “No, of course not. You’re a guest. This was Lady Luna’s request, per Lady Atarah’s unwillingness to have you alone, lest you needed anything.”

Oh. Oh.

“But there was a guard…” Oren trailed off, trying to search through his hazy memories. At Calia’s confused face, he simply murmured, “Nothing.”

Calia said her final goodbyes, and Oren watched her go with an uneasy heart.

He remembered vague voices around him. Atarah. It had been Atarah arguing with a male.

_He’s not armed, Sir,_ had been Atarah’s snarl. A guard had thought him dangerous. That same guard had carried him here under Atarah’s watchful gaze. In his semi-unconsciousness, Oren had wished he could say, _Please, I’m not dangerous. I am here to warn the Queen._ But darkness had enveloped him, and he remembered nothing else.

Not even seconds later, when Oren had managed to find a comfortable position, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pains in his body, the guard Calia changed shifts with appeared in the doorway of the infirmary. He approached Oren is slow steps.

What struck Oren first were his eyes. 

Those were the eyes of someone who truly regretted what they were seconds away from doing.

“Who are-”

Oren never managed to finish.

One second, he’d been staring up at the guard, attempting to sit up. The next, a cloth was shoved over his nose and mouth, and Oren breathed in a stinging, foul smell that left his mind foggy. His body slumped before he could fight.

Before he could do anything else to protect himself, darkness wrapped its cold arms around him once more.

***

Atarah felt cold.

No matter how many blankets she’d placed over her bed, the cold did not leave her for the remainder of the night. She thought of knocking on Luna’s door to see if she might be awake, but that would be silly, and whatever anxiety that plagued her could be dealt with on her own.

When the night was at its darkest, Atarah decided that she could not sleep. So she jumped out of bed, and took a walk through the halls, her socks keeping her feet warm against the cold marbled floors. Her legs carried her to the infirmary, and Atarah had only realized where she was when the familiar corridor came into view, alight with candles.

She hesitated.

Would she find him awake? Oren had been in a frightening state. She could check up on him, just to ease her heart. It couldn’t hurt. Plus, she wouldn’t wake him, or disturb him. She just wanted…

She wanted to see if he was alright.

Atarah took a step, when a particular scent hit her.

It was the same scent that had greeted her at the gates, mixed with something… almost metallic.

But Atarah did not dwell on it too much. Guards came and went through the halls, after all, during their shifts. She expected to see the healer waiting at the door.

There was no healer.

A female lay on the floor right on the curve that led to infirmary, her golden hair streaked with red. Her throat was open. Her eyes were empty.

Atarah did not scream, for she did not get a chance to.

An arm wrapped around her frame, and a foul smell went up her nose-

No. _No._

_Oren_.

Though she attempted to struggle with all her might, her body gave out quickly, her feet slipping on the marbled ground, getting tangled in her nightshift. She felt herself being lifted it into the arms of a male that held a cloth to her mouth. He muttered words to her, something like an apology. Her eyes fluttered shut against her will.

Atarah’s last memory was of Oren’s empty bed.

***

Luna dreamt of peaceful things. Summer breezes, gentle smiles, arms wrapped around her. Brown curls falling over dark eyes, Leander’s hands cupping her cheeks like he always did before he kissed her.

“Luna,” he said then, before their lips touched.

“Yes,” she whispered.

They were lying in a meadow covered with Kingsflame. Clouds hovered above, but Luna did not see them. Leander’s smile was bright.

He said to her, “I have to go back to Anielle. My grandfather needs me.” And kissed her knuckles.

“Will you take me with you, this time?”

Leander’s expression wavered. As if she’d dragged her fingers through the surface of water. As if she’d caressed an oil canvas that was still drying, smudging the colours. His smile faltered. “I can’t, my love.”

“Why not?” Luna asked softly.

Leander looked up at the skies. Blue. Clear blue. Stars dotted the light colour, and Luna frowned as she followed his gaze. Stars in the middle of the day?

“Do you remember when you taught me to look up at the stars?” Leander murmured. “You always liked the stars. You were fascinated by them. And I was fascinated by you.”

“I like _you_ ,” Luna said. “I love you.”

“I know,” Leander smiled. “I loved you, too.”

Luna swallowed hard, placing a hand on his chest, where his heart should be. There was only silence. “Don’t say _loved_.”

“I can’t love you anymore,” he said. “Not from where I am.”

“Come back,” Luna said.

Leander’s smile widened as he turned his head to look at her. Grass brushed against his human cheeks, the sun shined in his human eyes, warmth lived in his human hands, as he caressed her cheek. His lips touched her brow. “One day, it won’t hurt. I promise. Look up at the stars, my love.”

“No.”

“They’re waiting for you.”

“Who?” Luna asked, closing her eyes, unwilling to see him disappear again.

“The stars,” Leader whispered.

Luna woke up to sunlight, in her own bedroom. Her pillows were on the floor. She’d turned so much in her bed that she’d ended where her feet were supposed to be.

She hadn’t been taken to the stars that night, it seemed.

Luna sat up, looking around the mess she’d made, slowly pulling strands of hair off her sweaty face. Luna sighed heavily, and couldn’t help but wonder whether or not she’d be able to go back and see Velaris again, _willingly_. Would it be possible?

Would she dare to try?

But-

A knock. That was a knock on her door.

“Yes?”

Andrea burst through Luna’s chambers, her eyes wide.

“Andy?” Luna said.

Andrea Lochan swallowed hard, tears brimming her eyes. “Luna, you need to come. Something terrible has happened.”

***

The only terrible thing about following old maps is that, while the world itself changed, the maps always stayed the same.

Telling the differences, however, was the part he enjoyed most.

Eldon’s night consisted of him going back and forth between his brother’s room to check on him, and going up to Orynth’s pristine library, where he was hunched over an insanely tall stack of parchments, and a tower of books to go along with the mess. He compared dates, sketches, history facts. He double checked names, crossed out things that definitely did not make sense, and in the early hours of morning, Eldon left his livery behind, and sneaked out from Orynth’s back gates, right when the guards were changing shifts, so that no one would see him.

He willed his horse to go north. Eldon was positive that the Staghorn Mountains would be the place where he’d find answers to his questions. He guessed it would either end in him being absolutely wrong, and feeling silly for having gone for such a trouble to find an ancient map of the Old Worlds that turned out to be wrong, or he would find himself victorious with a discovery that would change his world forever.

He knew the dangers that lurked in the Staghorn Mountains. He knew that his luck could run short anytime now. But Eldon had gone farther than any explorer had; he’d found something that they hadn’t found.

He’d found a way to connect worlds.

He just had to prove his theory.

Whether he was wrong or right, only the ending of the story would tell.


	11. Chapter 11

In the bittersweet beginnings of dawn, Andrik Lochan saw his love off. He took her hand, and gently said, “I don’t like saying goodbye to you in these circumstances. I don’t like saying goodbye to you at all.”

Chaos reigned in Orynth.

The news had rung throughout the palace early, many hours before the sun could properly rise. Andrik had been pulled out of bed by screaming down the hall, and when he’d seen Luna’s personal guard with her throat cut out in the infirmary hall, Andrik’s first thought had been of Luna, and his family. And Rhiannon.

Andrik had screamed his lungs out at the guards, growling orders here and there to have his family brought to him at once. His heart had only been able to rest when he’d got to them all – Aelin, Rowan, Amara, too – in Orynth’s meeting room. Luna had been sleeping in her bedroom, Fenrys had assured them. She was safe. Rhiannon had burst through the door then, yellow eyes wide and predatory. Without any form of self-restraint or logic, Andrik had wrapped his arms around the witch, pulling her against him under the eyes of his family. Rhiannon had gone very still, before wrapping her arms around him, too.

She must have seen how much he’d trembled, for she’d told him, close to his ear, “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The meeting had been long and tenuous and worrying.

The Lady of Suria had been captured, and taken to Gods’ knew where, along with the male she’d brought in who, apparently, had been carrying urgent news for the Queen, according to his healer. Atarah had apparently been pulled out of bed by her captor; the male was dragged out of his bed in the infirmary. Their scents had disappeared into thin air, and tracking them would be close to impossible.

Why that male?

Why Atarah, of all people?

Aelin had begun questioning the staff who had found Calia’s lifeless body, though making sure they were brought to the throne room with hot tea. To watch Aelin attempt to assure them that they were safe and nothing would hurt them inside those walls was as painful to And rik as much as it was to her.

They both knew that was a lie.

Lorcan and the Prince had gone to question the guards next.

And now – Andrik was saying goodbye to Rhiannon, waiting for a lead, for an answer, for anything. He felt useless. And Andrik Lochan didn’t like that feeling – not one bit.

Rhiannon sighed, and simply wrapped her arms around him.

He needed that more than he could admit.

“I’ll have to go tell my mother and my father what has happened,” Rhiannon was saying. “I know Aelin is too preoccupied to send word, and so is everyone else. We will find them, Andrik. And we will find the people who did this.” Rhiannon shook her head, pulling back slightly to stare at the palace behind Andrik’s back. “Something strange is happening. I’ll gather the witches.”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Hey,” Rhia whispered. “You and I are not done. Not yet.”

He smiled slightly at that, and she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“When you come back,” Andrik said softly, “come meet me in Perranth. I leave today to deliver the news to Ferran, and see if we can cover more field from there. Whoever did this is long gone, given the fact that we can’t track their scents.”

Rhia’s eyes softened. “Yes. Yes, I’ll come to Perranth.”

Andrik touched her cheek, allowing his thumb to caress the soft skin. “I have so many words for you,” he whispered. But now was not the time.

“I know,” Rhia said, closing her eyes at his touch. “So do I. But – save them. Save them until I get back.”

Azul, Rhiannon’s wyvern, made a little sound of impatience behind her, making his owner smile a little.

“Impatient little one,” Andrik smiled, looking up at the wyvern.

“Almost as impatient as me,” Rhia said, turning her face to kiss the palm of Andrik’s hand. Then she stepped back, and Andrik felt cold again, though he tried not to show it.

Azul’s blue-grey scales glimmered in the early sunrays as he bowed his head to Rhiannon. She gave in, caressing his head gently. Then those terrifying black eyes turned to Andrik, analysing. Rhiannon visibly stiffened. But Azul only reached over, and began to sniff at Andrik’s clothing, as if looking for something.

Then Andrik remembered who’d sired this curious wyvern, and he reached into his back pockets, taking out a few wilted flowers that his sister had placed in his hair a few hours ago – meant to be a gentle, sweet gesture from her part, amongst all the worried glances and whispers. Azul’s eyes widened and Andrik attempted to stretch his hand. He marvelled at the gentleness of the wyvern as it licked his palm, using absolutely no teeth to accept the meal, then swallowing the flowers whole.

Rhiannon stared at them both with wide eyes.

“What?” Andrik said.

“He’s not usually that…” she looked up at Azul, brows stitched together, “trusting.”

“He’s a good boy,” Andrik smiled, looking up at him. As if he understood, Azul’s tail wacked from side to side, missing the bark of an old oak tree by inches.

“Perranth,” Rhia whispered.

“In Perranth,” Andrik said back.

Rhia took that step.

She reached over, fingers wrapped in his collar, and pulled him close. With one last look, she kissed him. It was an effort to keep his hands to himself, especially as Rhiannon inched closer, pressing herself flush against him, and he swore she could feel him melting at her touch. Too soon, she pulled back, but did not pull away entirely so as to give him one last peck that made him as breathless as any kiss they’d shared in those short hours.

Andrik watched her mount. “Be careful,” he murmured.

“Always.” Rhiannon grabbed the reins, looking up at the skies. Above them, a grey-scaled wyvern roamed over orange clouds, waiting. Asterin. Andrik imagined his sister somewhere watching her lover leave, too. Rhia looked down at him and said, “Take care. I want you in one piece when I come back to you.”

“Every piece is yours,” Andrik said. “I’ll do good to take care.”

With one last smile, Andrik watched his love fly into the skies. Two wyverns flying away from him, into the sunrise.

His heart felt impossibly heavy.

When he turned, he saw his brother walking towards him. He still held a slight limp.

He’d been in that meeting room, too, Eva by his side. The two had been inseparable ever since the attack. Andrik was smart enough not to say a word about it.

“Do mother and father know you’re out of bed?” Andrik drawled.

Ragnar approached him, looking stressed and battered and tired. “No, and you’ll do well not to tell them. I’m done staying in bed. Shit is happening. I want to-”

“I’m leaving,” Andrik said. “For Perranth. Today.”

Ragnar closed his mouth. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“No, it’s not wise at all,” Andrik said. “But we have too many people working here, and Ferran needs me back in Perranth. You know Aelin will need mother and father, and I can’t stay here with my arms crossed while everyone else is freaking out. Plus, Ferran and I can oversee this threat in Perranth – at least we know that this may be happening all over Terrasen and not just in Orynth.” Andrik sighed heavily. “Either way, I have to move. You, in turn, will do well to keep yourself on your toes and not get yourself in danger. We’ve enough of that.”

Ragnar narrowed his eyes and kicked a pebble under his brother’s scrutinizing gaze. “I told you before you’re not a particularly authoritarian presence, brother.”

“Perhaps not,” Andrik said. “But I _am_ your brother. Wishing for your safety is not uncalled for. Nor is trying to get some sense into that head of yours.”

They shared a look, until Ragnar sighed, and turned to look at the horizon. “You know Eldon’s gone, right?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Andrik growled. “ _Now_? Do mother and father know?”

“Of course they don’t,” Ragnar said. “And they can’t know, either. Howlan’s been pretending to be in two places at once ever since the news broke, like he thinks we can’t see right through him. Now, apparently, _Eldon_ is feeling unwell and will remain in his chambers for the rest of the day. Do they really think we can’t tell them apart?”

Andrik shrugged. “If I’m being honest, half the time I can’t.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Ragnar admitted. “Anyway, yes, Eldon chose the worst time to disappear, but we know he’s alright – his cloak his gone. I checked.”

Andrik rolled his eyes dramatically. “The _Eldon Is Planning To Go On A Secret Mission_ cloak.”

“The one and only.”

“Fuck,” Andrik repeated. “Warn him when he arrives, will you? And get some sense into his head when he does. This is not the time to go around playing adventurer, people are out there to kill us. Dangerous people.”

Ragnar lowered his eyes. Andrik saw a thoughtfulness in his brother then, a thoughtfulness that was both bitter and curious. “You know why they’re doing this? Threatening us?”

Andrik side-eyed him. “Of course I do.” It wasn’t his or his siblings’ first time hearing the term _half-breed_. People were targeting them for a reason, and that could only be it: prejudice.

Or perhaps it was the work of nobles trying to get their hands on whatever strings of power they could find in Terrasen. It wouldn’t be the first time. But that was not where Andrik’s money was at.

In Ragnar’s eyes, Andrik saw the same understanding.

“We will win this,” Ragnar said.

Andrik had no other option but to believe him.

***

Luna had not left her bedroom.

Both her fathers had come in, wrapping their arms around her, but they could do nothing to ease her pain.

Atarah.

Her childhood best friend.

Captured.

Her guard, Calia, who’d been a ray of light each morning and throughout her days, ever since she’d been appointed to care for Luna – dead. What hurt the most was that Luna knew that Calia had not died peacefully. She didn’t even get a chance to fight for her life. She’d died in pain, alone in an empty, dark hallway, while Luna had been sleeping.

If she had never assigned Calia for the job-

_Another person would have died in her place._

But-

Luna shut her eyes, ashamed at her next thought. _But it wouldn’t have been Calia._

It still would have mattered. Even if that person had been a stranger.

But, Gods, this hurt so much more. It hurt so much not knowing if Atarah was even alive at this point.

Luna should have never written that letter.

Luna should have never told Atarah what was happening in Orynth. If she hadn’t, Atarah would’ve never felt the need to come. And she would have never been captured. She would have been safe, at home, with her family. Free from the dangers Luna had brought her into.

None of this would have happened if she hadn’t sent that damned letter.

Luna sunk into the floor of her chambers, bathed in light, swallowed by darkness. She cried to no one, but for so many.

_This was all my fault._

***

Andrea Lochan pushed back tears. This was no time to throw herself a pity party, and certainly not a good time to be thinking of her own troubles that, in the light of everything that had happened, seemed close to nothing.

She still stayed in that balcony, though, watching Asterin fly off, taking Andrea’s heart with her.

Their beginning had been a whirlwind of a thing.

Andrea’s heart had always beaten a little faster whenever Asterin stood in the same room – and she’d known it, too. She’d recognized it from very early on that Asterin could never be just her friend, not really. Friends didn’t imagine other friends kissing them.

Andrea had known that she’d wanted more. She’d wanted everything. She’d wanted Asterin as her friend, her lover, her haven, her comfort. But she’d been unsure whether or not the witch reciprocated any of Andrea’s feelings, and so, years had gone by with endless heartbreaks caused by males who couldn’t even touch her properly without Andrea making her feelings for Asterin known.

And, damn it, the witch was hard to read.

Andrea, unlike her love, wore her heart on her sleeve. Not willingly, mind you. She just couldn’t help being an open book. She couldn’t contain the flutters her heart gave whenever Asterin stepped too close. And Andrea knew that Asterin could hear it. She just thought the witch had ignored all the little signs Andrea couldn’t contain, so as to keep Andrea free from the embarrasement that a rejection would cause.

It’d been just last spring that Asterin had kissed her for the first time.

Not that Andrea had made that particularly easy. You see, only the night before their first kiss, Andrea had gotten shit drunk, and thought that the only thing that made sense was to open her heart to Asterin right then and there.

It was a wonder that the witch was still here.

A wonder that she’d felt the same then as she does now.

Andrea sighed as the wyvern disappeared out of her sight. No memory of sweet kisses and hand-holding could erase what was going on inside Orynth. It couldn’t erase what had happened that night.

Her thoughts of Asterin were swept away when Andrea caught a familiar scent drifting through the air. The youngest Lochan narrowed her eyes, and snarled under her breath. Turning on her heels, she marched inside the palace, quickened her steps, and then grabbed her brother by the back collar of his shirt, pinning him against the wall, too quickly for him to even pick up her own scent.

“You,” Andrea growled. “Where. Is. Eldon.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Howlan breathed. “Are you mad? I thought my throat was going to be cut open next.”

Andrea didn’t bother to look apologetic. “You know the dangers that are lurking everywhere. You let him go? You let Eldon go on one of his little explorations?”

Howlan sighed. “Listen, Andy, he’s trying to help.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Andrea said. “And you better hope mother and father don’t find out that he’s gone. They better be thinking that our brother felt too ill to come out of his room for the rest of the day and not suspect a damn thing, Howlan.”

“I’m no fool,” Howlan frowned. “And before you rage at him, try to see it from his point of view. You know Eldon, Andy. You know him as we all do. He’s anxious. He sees death and destruction everywhere, and he feels hopeless. He feels as if he’s not doing anything to help, and it kills him. Try to understand that.”

Andrea stepped back, though her gaze didn’t soften. “Maybe Eldon should understand that right now, what’s better for him might not be better for everyone else. Him disappearing while people are out there trying to kill us is not helping. It’s just making us all more worried than we already are. Remind our brother of that when he returns.”

Then she marched on, fuming.

 _Asterin help me,_ was Andrea’s last thought before she slumped in a chair nearby. _I’m surrounded by self-sacrificing idiots._

***

A few hours into the night, after Seren had said his goodbyes to his brother and his cousins, the oldest Archeron sat with his back to the stars, running his fingers through his hair. It was an old habit – one he got from his father, his mother had told him; whenever he was stressed, he made a mess out of his hair.

His aunt Elain’s vision could hold no meaning.

Her visions weren’t often vivid and truthful interpretations of the future. Nothing was ever set. The world was everchanging. With each passing second, that vision could turn into something else. The future is like water – the littlest forces can create ripples, changes. A leaf could fall on the surface. The future _could_ change.

And it most likely would.

So why couldn’t Seren stop thinking about it?

High Fae – Astrid had described. Her mother had spoken about otherworldly people who looked similar to High Fae, who spoke a strange tongue, but one Elain had understood.

_Luna_.

Seren shook his head. He should be thinking of his brother now. Seren had seen the hopelessness in his brother’s eyes, and suddenly, he felt guilty for ever whining about his own predicament. The stars had been awfully generous to Seren, compared to Aidan. That much was true. But at the same time, they hadn’t chosen to be completely kind to the brothers, either.

A human. The stars had chosen a _human_ for his brother.

A human girl with a human life, who’s fragile heart might be one of the few things that could shatter his brother’s.

It almost gave him reason to laugh – the stars had a cruel sense of humour; he’d give them that. For him and his brother to find their other halves, but have them be from completely different worlds…

Seren had to smile so he wouldn’t cry.

The stars had made terrible choices.

Or perhaps…

Seren turned to look over his shoulder – to the nightgown that hung in that chair, near the fireplace, the nightgown that he hadn’t dared to touch or move, afraid that he would touch nothing at all but air, terrified that he would realize Luna and every conversation they’d had thus far had been nothing but a figment of his imagination, a sick, desperate need for him to have what he’d craved most for a while: companionship.

But it was still there.

Seren’s feet carried him there. He touched a hand to the fabric, grimacing when the scent of her hit his nostrils like strong herbs. He despised how pleasant her scent was. Sugary-sweet.

As he stared at that nightgown, Seren couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. What she was thinking. Had she told anyone about him? Had she been smiling while doing so?

Seren turned to look at the stars, twinkling through the loose curtains of his balcony doors. “You made a terrible choice,” he whispered. His eyes darted back to the nightgown, as if he could see Luna sitting there. “But perhaps right choices are often terrible ones.”

***

“Darling.”

Luna opened her eyes to the sound of her father’s voice, jumping slightly when she realized he was closer than she’d imagined. His voice had sounded so far away. Everything felt so far away.

Fenrys squatted down next to her bed, touching her cheek.

“My sweet girl,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Luna murmured. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. You always do this.” She closed her eyes, feeling herself close to tears again. “The first time I asked about my mother, you apologized, as if it were your fault that her health did not allow her to hold me for more than a few moments after I was born. When I scraped my knee and papa had to remove the pebbles from my bloody skin, you apologized, as if you were at fault that I was running too fast and my foot got caught in the gravel.” Luna looked at her father. “And you’re apologizing now, but you know you couldn’t have prevented it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But I could have.”

Fenrys’ face twisted into a frown, deep and worried. And then his eyes softened, as he dragged his thumb over his daughter’s cheek. “I know we couldn’t have prevented this. I’m sorry because… I’m sorry that you feel as if you’re losing another person that you love. But you’re not, darling. We’ll find them. What happened to Calia will not happen to Atarah.”

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she said. “You promised never to lie to me. Don’t begin to do so now, I beg you.”

Fenrys sat down, facing her. “We will find Atarah, Luna.”

Luna sniffed slightly. “I can’t stand not doing anything. It’s my fault, and I’m crying in my bed, instead of looking for my friend.”

“It’s not-”

“I should’ve never sent that letter, papa,” Luna whispered. “I made a mistake, and it cost us greatly. It might cost me my friend’s life. It already cost me Calia.”

Fenrys shook his head. “Luna, look at me.”

It was not often that Fenrys used his father voice on her. But it made Luna look at him, then, halting her next words.

He said, patiently, but firmly, “Calia knew the dangers of her job. I’m sorry for her loss, and sorry for her family. But she died protecting someone. I knew Calia, and I know that she would not balk away from protecting someone, even if it came as a great danger to herself. You couldn’t have known, and you couldn’t have avoided that. If you hadn’t appointed her, she would still be guarding you. Now, as for your letter, you were warning your friend to stay safe. Atarah made her own decision to come here. And while it was not her fault, we both know that it couldn’t have been because of you. You caused none of this to happen. The actions of terrible people should not make you reconsider yours.” Fenrys sighed softly. “I know what it is like to feel helpless, my darling.” He looked out the window, reminiscing. “I once had to watch your aunt Aelin being tortured, and I physically could not get to her. It killed me. I blamed myself, too.”

“You _did_ help.”

“Those days will never leave my memory, nor will that pain leave my heart, Luna,” Fenrys said. “I love Aelin, just as you love Atarah. So I understand. I understand, but as your father, I will not allow you to put yourself down in such a way. It is not your fault.”

Luna was quiet for a very long time. And then, “Please let me go look for her.”

Fenrys lowered his eyes. “Your father and I will go with you.”

Luna started. She sat up then, pulling strands of hair from her open mouth. “You… will?”

“I won’t shackle you, darling. I could never do such a thing. But I will not let you go alone, and I hope you understand that.”

“I understand.”

“I will always shelter you,” Fenrys said, touching her hand. “No matter what we find, I will be there.”

Luna nodded, her throat swollen from holding back tears. She wrapped her arms around her father, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she breathed.

By the time Fenrys had left, the world was already bathed in the darkness of night. He’d sat with his daughter, and they’d read together, like they used to do when Luna was very little. For hours, they’d talked. But Luna hadn’t forgotten about her mission. Tomorrow, she would join those who were looking for Atarah.

And she would kill whoever had dared to lay a hand on her friend.

Whoever had made their mission to hurt Calia.

Luna looked outside her window, placing her palms flat against the glass. Calia had been buried amongst roses, her favourites. A stone carving full of rocks stood in her place now, surrounded by yellow and pink flowers.

Luna picked up her shoes and robe, and left her chambers.

Three guards followed her.

She pretended they weren’t there.

Luna made a mental note to herself that next time she’d teleport herself, rather than be followed.

Her uncles, Lorcan and Rowan, had been trying to find who had switched shifts with Calia the night before, but with a palace overflowing with guards, the investigation would still take a few days. So far, they had no answers, even if everybody was trying to move at the speed of light.

She walked through the rose garden, until she reached the alcove where Calia would eternally reside.

The skies were unlit. Stars hid behind clouds, as if they, too, couldn’t bear to see Calia beneath the earth.

Luna turned to look over her shoulder. “May I have a moment of privacy, please?”

The guards nodded solemnly, and, one by one, they rounded the rose garden, not completely out of her sight, but far enough that they wouldn’t hear her.

Luna sat on the ground cross-legged, like she’d done with Leander’s stone, and stared at the name engraved in front of her, her eyes swelling up with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

She would never be greeted by Calia in the mornings again. Would never hear one of Calia’s loud yawns that made Luna laugh. She would never sit by the gardens while Calia rambled on about flowers. Luna wondered then if Calia had moments where she regretted her choice of career. Whether it had truly been _her_ choice at all, and not a family decision, and if, had Calia been given another opportunity, would she have chosen to tend to roses instead of wielding swords.

“I’ll miss you,” Luna continued. “Thank you for everything.”

Luna rested her heavy head on her knees. She pulled her legs closer to her chest, wrapping her arms around them to keep out the cold. But it dug its claws into her, sinking into her bones, as if the very marrow underneath was a frozen river.

_Then go on, make your wishes._

If she could go back to that night with Seren, Luna would have certainly asked for a better wish. She’d been foolish to waste two wishes on one.

Scratch that – she had been foolish to wish on fallen _eyelashes_ , point blank.

_I wish for-_

_You can’t tell me, or it won’t come true. Close your eyes, tell it to yourself thrice, then blow them away._

“I wish,” she repeated the words she’d told herself that night in a whisper, to no one in particular, “I wish for someone to listen. To stay.”

She’d remembered the way Seren had listened on to her ramblings, without trying to appease her, or reassure her, or contradict her. He’d been happy to simply _listen_.

Luna loved her family. But sometimes, it felt impossible to talk to them. She could do no wrong in their eyes, and she was always the one that needed protecting, rather than be the one that did the protecting. They sheltered her to the point where they smothered her. When Leander had died, everyone tiptoed around her, and whenever his name was mentioned, the subject was quickly changed, as if they thought she might be too fragile to even speak his name. Well, she was, but she’d _wanted_ to. She’d needed to talk about Leander, while everyone around her seemed to wish for her to forget, completely, that she’d lost the one person that she’d fallen in love with. Even now – even her father could not admit that Luna had some part in this, no matter how small. It was never her fault. She was always the weakest one.

They meant well, of course, but-

Seren had just listened.

Perhaps it was because he was a stranger to her, and she was a stranger to him, but Luna had felt as if… she could confess her most selfish feelings, and Seren would still be willing to listen. There would be no contradictions with him. He’d listen, always. 

He’d treat her as an equal.

He would never place her above him nor under him.

He could stay.

If-

Luna raised her head, lifting her eyes to the skies. Something tugged at her stomach, her skin prickling. She looked down at her arms, at the way her hairs raised. Frowning, Luna lifted herself up.

She heard a weak whistle.

Like-

Like something heavy falling. _Fast_.

Then she looked to the skies again – to see a dark shadow plummet through the clouds that hid the stars. Luna widened her eyes and followed that line to where it was falling – whatever it was, it would land on the other side of the gardens. Luna searched the guards, but they were nowhere to be seen – distracted, somewhere.

Luna looked up once more, squinting, seeing that dark shadow turn and twist in the air-

Luna audibly gasped.

Sharp edges – talons.

Dark shadows – no, they weren’t shadows at all.

Those were _wings_.

“No,” she whispered.

Luna took off in a run, her shoes getting lost behind her in her haste, her robe billowing, drifting down her shoulders to be abandoned on the grass. If the guards saw her, Luna didn’t care, nor did she notice, for right in that second, before the _thing_ – no, before _he_ – could hit the ground, Luna closed her eyes, and took a _leap_.

For a moment, it felt like flying.

Not even a second later, she was there, on the other side of the gardens, looking up, attempting to keep her balance. Luna only had time to run and raise her arms – he was falling so fast that he couldn’t hold up his wings long enough to fly.

It all happened so fast. Almost too fast for her to notice the collision.

They were sent sprawling with the force of his impact, and Luna gritted her teeth at feeling the ground open beneath her as her shoulder blades dragged over the surface, sharp pebbles digging into her skin. Wings spread over her then, instinctively sheltering her face from bits of dirt and rocks that were flung high in the air.

At last, they came to a stop.

Luna tasted dirt under her tongue, her head swam, and it took her a few blinks to get her vision to stop trembling. Black spots were everywhere. She smelled blood. Her blood, on her shoulders.

But all of that was pushed to the side the moment she began to come back to her senses, and smell that familiar tang of citrus and sea. In the same moment, her eyes focused on those talons, and those wings, forming a tent above and around her.

Rocks and dust still rained over them.

His face was buried on her neck. Her eyes adjusted in time to see him pull back to look down at her.

“Luna?” Seren almost cried.

“Oh, Goddess,” Luna breathed. “ _Seren_.”

***

The map could not be a fake.

Everything had pointed toward it being legit. Eldon had not been wrong in his research and in his facts and in his history, he was certain of it.

He could not fail.

He _couldn’t_.

But hours into the Staghorn Mountains, and all he’d found was _nothing_.

The map of the Old Worlds depicted the Staghorn Mountains as it was now – lush with life, great mountains stacked one on top of the other. Even if everything else was different. This one mountain in particular, the one he’d just climbed – it _had_ to be the one.

Eldon frowned against the afternoon sun, squinting his eyes. Beyond these mountains, had stood another territory – beyond the Wolf Tribe, where now only cold, frozen sea bathed the land…

A land called Prythian had stood there. A territory further north, where the cold seas turned into gentle waters. Seven Courts, divided by borders. That is what the Old World looked like, according to his map. Erilea and Prythian had once been one.

History is said to be told by the victors. But Eldon knew the word of victors was rarely the word to be trusted, and as someone who knew _all_ stories, Eldon knew that there was more to his world than that tip of the iceberg. Stories changed, wherever you went, wherever you looked – but they’d all have to have one thing in common. And the case of his world, Eldon knew that thing was the fact that those worlds had been separated by higher powers a long, long time ago. So long ago that the reasons for it had been lost in time; so long ago that even the memory of the Fae could not recall them.

This story, it seemed, had a complicated beginning, which made for an even more complicated beginning.

If Eldon compared the map of the Old Worlds that he’d nicked from that market for a heavy price to all the others that he’d been collecting over the years, changes begun to look clear: in the most modern maps that he’d been able to find, the territory was modified ever so slightly – the Mountains spread, the continent seemed to stretch, and up north, beyond the mountains and the cliffs, there was only the frozen sea. Nothing else.

_But_.

In the Old Worlds map, there were crossed out lines and drawings of a cave, in one of the Staghorn Mountains. It had been traced by a nameless historian, dating back to ten millennium ago, or so. In that map, the author had drawn a passage through a wide cave pointing to where the cold sea now stood in that very mountain. When Eldon had come across all those question marks in the map where only the frozen sea stood, it was if he’d been able to hear its nameless author murmuring, _There’s something there that we cannot see._

These studies had been lost through time, much like the reasons for the separation of those two worlds. Prythian became a myth only very few knew about, buried so far under the earth, that it was almost unreachable.

_Almost_.

But as he walked around the supposed mountain, and saw nothing, no cave, no passage, no clue, nothing at all, Eldon stood there grinding his teeth, an assortment of yellowing maps wrinkling in his fist.

He’d organized those maps right – he knew it. It was the only timeline that made sense, so how could he be _wrong_ -

He’d been looking for hours. Right now, Eldon’s horse would be getting agitated down below, watching the sun set and no owner coming back to fetch him.

Worse – it had almost been an entire day since he’d been seen in Orynth. His parents were bound to search for him, and his siblings too. Eldon couldn’t keep asking Howlan to fill in for him.

Eldon looked to the setting sun, and back to the mountain’s rock wall. He wasn’t ready to give up. No, not yet. But he knew how to lose a battle, and a sun setting over the horizon when it was time to go home was a clear signal that that battle was already lost.

Eldon shoved the maps into his pocket and turned back, sighing tiredly. The mountain was steep, and it would take time to go back down, so he should get going. Though it tugged at him, that strange feeling in the back of his mind – that insistence. Maps did not lie. An even if the one he’d nicked was a fake, it had facets of the truth written all over it.

But the _cave_. The cave not being there, where it was _supposed_ to be-

He suddenly halted, almost slipping down the mountain. Eldon narrowed his eyes, and turned to look over his shoulder, back to that rocky wall.

The cave wasn’t there.

But maybe – _maybe_ it once _had_ been.

Eldon blinked, finally noticing the shape of the rocks – their outline. He imagined picking each rock apart, one by one, slowly, carefully, so the rest would be crumbling down, to see if…

The booming of wings took him out of his daydream, and made Eldon look up – above him, a vulture spread its inky wings, right before it soared in front of him. The moment it was supposed to touch the ground, it shifted into a young female.

Her black hair curled about her ivory face, her eyes dark as olives. She wore robes of deep burgundy, the colour of his favourite wine. There was a smile on her face as she watched him, a smile that seemed to freeze him on the spot.

“Hello, Eldon,” she purred.

Eldon took a step back, then refrained from taking another – he was dangerously close to tipping over the edge. “Who are you,” he demanded. “How do you know my name?”

The female only gave him that calm, unsettling smile. “Why, you are the son of heroes. You have your mother’s eyes, but your father’s strong features. How could I not know of you?”

“You knew I’d be here,” Eldon said, slowly unsheathing his sword. “How. And why.”

The female’s eyes turned to his sword like a snake following a mouse, though her smile did not falter. Her face barely shifted.

“Answer me,” Eldon said.

“You bribed the wrong people, my Lord.”

Eldon’s blood went as cold as the frozen sea. Informant – one of the people he bribed had been an informant, a spy. But if so – why give him what he desired in the first place? Unless-

They’d been stalling to catch him off-guard. And what was more off-guard than the top of a steep mountain in the middle of nowhere?

“Who are you?” He snarled.

“My name is Ragana,” she said, soft and lovely. “And I know of you, Lord Eldon. I know you all too well.” She began moving, slowly, gracefully, with incredible ease, as if they were two friends having a chat. But Eldon knew every step was purposeful. He watched her, his sword arm never faltering. “Son of Perranth. Half-breed.” A pause. She grinned, like she’d told a joke. “But – not really, right? You’re not exactly what we call a half-breed. Your father is the half-breed, and your mother… what is your mother, exactly? Perhaps not exactly human, but… you’re almost less than a half-breed, am I right? Anyway. I’m getting lost in semantics.”

“ _What is this_?” Eldon growled, pointing his sword. “What do you want?”

Ragana stopped a few steps in front of Eldon, calculating. Her smile vanished. “Let me tell you a story, Lord Eldon. I’m fond of those, and I know you are, too. This is the story of a boy, born at the end of winter during a rain pour. A boy who grew up longing for knowledge, for understanding, a boy with too many questions his parents had never really known how to answer. A boy in the middle of six siblings.” Ragana held his gaze, and Eldon could barely speak, as if she’d placed a spell on him, keeping him grounded, almost entranced. “That boy wanted too much. And that boy would live his entire life without ever feeling like he was enough.” She smiled then, cruel and beautiful. “Your oldest brother will be a prince someday, and his strength is endless. Your second-oldest brother is the charmer, the people-pleaser. He loves people, and they love him back. The third-born is the fire that will _try_ to stop the waters from drowning your family. Your twin is your voice of reason. Your youngest sister is the happiness, the joy, the smile on everyone’s face. But you, Lord Eldon, you are nothing and have nothing to give, and you know it. So you turn to the one thing you can do,” she turned her eyes to his pocket, where the maps were hidden. “And even _that_ is a dead end, nothing but a myth. A worthless story with no end. I know you, Lord Eldon. I know your heart. I see your greed, buried deep under a surface of kindness.”

“So, let me guess. That’s your power?” Eldon said, his voice a deadly whisper. “You see into people’s hearts?”

“I do more than that,” Ragana said. “But yes. I see that you look at your siblings and wish you were them. Your desire, your _need_ to be useful, to have a purpose, consumes you. It kills you. Because you want to shine, don’t you, Eldon? But your brothers and your sister shine more. You’re not heartless enough to take their shine away and make it your own, are you?” She took a step towards him, ignoring the sword between them. “With me, you can shine. You can finally have a purpose.”

Eldon was stone cold where he stood. Nothing could move him. Not storms nor hurricanes.

“And what purpose is that?” He asked between clenched teeth.

She smiled. “Knowledge, of course. We want to study you.”

“We?”

“You must have already put the pieces together and realized I’m not alone,” Ragana said. “Be a good boy. Come with me, so I don’t have to take you by force. I would hate to harm that face of yours. And what a beautiful face it is.”

“Fuck you, and fuck no,” Eldon said.

Ragana’s smile didn’t falter. She extended a hand, and Eldon swung, missing her fingers by a breath, as she quickly pulled it back. The first sign of irritation marked her pretty face.

“I know what you are and what you want,” Eldon said. “I’m not going with you.”

“We are not prejudiced, no matter what you think,” Ragana murmured. “I want you to show me what you are, and what you can do. What better purpose can you find for yourself rather than give yourself up to the one thing you truly love? _Knowledge_.”

“You’ll open me up and see what I’m made of and leave me in a table bleeding to death,” Eldon drawled, unusually and strangely calm for the situation. “I’ve heard stories of what your people did in the past to people like me. You want us _gone_. So I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Pity,” Ragana muttered. “I liked you.”

“I can’t share the feeling, sorry.”

“Final word?”

“Final word.”

Ragana looked up, daring.

She moved.

She was quicker than Eldon initially gave her credit for, but he managed to escape her claws just in time. Lucky, lucky. He twirled, just like Rowan had taught him, but Ragana was _fast_. Her teeth were grinding together, her jaw set, and Eldon knew that she would not quit. She would not stop. Either she would take him, or she would die trying.

“You won’t make it,” Eldon warned, leaving part of himself behind, and following his instincts instead. And his instincts told him to _kill_. “Stand down. It’s my final warning.”

He had questions – so many questions in the back of his mind. Ragana had truly known him – not only his feelings, but his family. Did her people know them, too? Could they be attempting to slaughter his family as he fought her?

Ragana didn’t listen.

She advanced on him as quickly as a snake bite, and while Eldon was not an expert with a sword, he felt as if he still had the upper hand.

But then, she made him stumble, because he was clumsy on his feet and didn’t have that much practice, and she was fully Fae. His speed was no match for hers, and she’d known it, for she came unarmed, so he’d have to be clever about this. His heart thrummed in his chest, his veins electrified with adrenaline, as he swung and deflected, swung and deflected, twirled and attacked, danced to the beat of a deadly song.

It wasn’t enough.

Ragana gripped his wrist, stopping his sword, and pushed him into the ground. Eldon saw stars as he was sent sprawling. Though his rage was more than he could take, and though he certainly needed it to fuel him, it still wasn’t enough. Before Eldon could pull himself back up, Ragana used her speed and kicked his sword away.

He took a breath.

Eldon knew she’d meant to kick it up, so she could grasp it in her hands, but instead, his weapon was sent sprawling to the edge of the mountain. She hesitated for half a second – and _that_ was enough.

Enough for Eldon to wrap his hands around her neck and fling her against the rock wall of the mountain. Her shoulder gave an awful crunch, but no noise came from her mouth as Eldon moved towards his sword-

A hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling him back. Eldon kicked her in the face, but Ragana’s nails dug into his skin, drawing blood. Eldon fell into the mountain’s jagged surface with a pained growl, and didn’t manage to reach for his sword, for in that same second, Ragana flipped him over, swinging her arm back and punching him straight in the nose.

It _cracked_.

Her next swing came with claws.

Three lines of red were drawn on his face as he struggled beneath her and against her strength.

But Eldon saw her next swing coming.

She’d let her rage win. 

Eldon fought with cleverness. He played with chance.

Luck was on in his side. He stopped her wrist, then crushed it in his hand as if it were not bone and meat and skin, but a piece of clay, and when Ragana howled in pain and her body contorted, Eldon pushed his knees up, wrapped his free hand around her neck, and _pushed_.

Ragana was thrown over ahead, and Eldon turned in time to see her fly over the edge of the mountain, where his sword lay waiting for him.

Eldon panted, and forced himself to move. His face caked in blood, he grasped his sword, and rose, mountain wind blowing past him.

He looked down over the edge.

A few paces down, Ragana held on to a weak-looking rock that protruded from the mountain’s body. That was her bad shoulder she was using – the shoulder he’d shattered on the rock. She gave out then, and Eldon watched her fall down, down, down. They were near clouds, here. She would not survive that fall.

He waited for that loose, deadly, empty _thump_.

It echoed, sending birds flying off their branches and into the setting sun.

Eldon closed his eyes, and with his sleeve, he rubbed off the blood from his face. He could barely think with the pain in his nose. Gods. _Gods_.

If he left now, he’d reach Orynth before dawn.

Sword dragging, Eldon numbly limped to where he came from, on the opposite side to where he’d thrown Ragana. But before he made his descent, that rock wall that had once been a cave caught his eye.

A crack ran through the wall now, all the way up. It must have done so when he’d thrown Ragana against it.

It would give in soon, he should move.

He straightened though, narrowing his eyes at it.

_I’ll come back for you._

_There’s something there that I **will** see._

With that, Eldon slowly limped down the mountain.

All the best stories were worth coming back to.


	12. Chapter 12

Hylas knew he’d fucked up.

The girl was never supposed to be brought in as well, and he could find no real use for her. The clock was ticking. When his master arrived, Hylas knew that he’d either be force to kill her, or get rid of her some other way.

He didn’t really like that. Enough deaths hung over his head already, he cared not to add another to his already lengthy list.

The male paced around the basement, crinkling his nose at the stinging smell of the cell built into the far wall. It had been designed by him, of course, as everything in this basement had. His master had found the abandoned estate years ago, and had renovated the rest of it to fit his pleasures: a long, sunny library on the west wing, facing the plush gardens where he liked to sit by the ceiling-to-floor windows and write his fantastical stories; a great hallway where he’d greeted the guests for his parties, parties that Hylas was never invited to; a study on the third floor that overlooked the great Staghorn Mountains, where his master planned his next disguise, his next heist, his next name, his next kill. Hylas had only been allowed into that office once. The door was always barred to him.

A lot of doors were always barred to him.

As he sat in the last steps of the spiral staircase of that dark, candlelit basement, Hylas wondered how on earth he’d let himself go this far. His hands still shook from dragging that blade over that guard’s throat. She’d been fearless, too. The moment Calia had seen him, she’d known, instinctively, that he was not there to change shifts. He was there to do something terrible.

He did something terrible, alright.

He’d hoped that Calia, who he’d unfortunately known for years, would’ve been out of his sight by the time he’d arrived at the infirmary to retrieve the Doranelle male. But she’d stayed later than he’d expected her to, and Hylas had been running out of time. She’d been his colleague, and she’d been kind to him, the way the other guards hadn’t been. The moment he’d looked down and saw her blood pooling at his feet, Hylas’ heart had given its very first beat of regret.

But he had to move.

And then – the girl. The cursed girl. He’d planned everything perfectly, as he always did. He’d checked schedules, monitored guards, royals, and courtiers. He’d made sure everyone was in the exact places they should be.

She had to go and ruin it.

Hylas had seen her before, the Lady of Suria. She’d been a great friend of Lady Luna’s. A girl of no interest to him.

Until she discovered his plan – or part of it.

“Why am I here?”

Hylas dragged out a long, heavy sigh at hearing her voice. She’d been babbling on and on as the night grew colder ever since she’d woken up. It got on his damned nerves. He thought of drugging her again, but he needed the herbs for the male downstairs.

He looked over his shoulder. The cell was pure metal. Heavy, strong. But any fae with a decent amount of strength could bend it, if a desperate will called for it. Specially a full-blooded fae like her.

The Lady of Suria seemed to think the exact same as she stared at him through the bars. After the hundredth non-response from him, it appeared as if she’d had enough. She clenched her little fists, like a toddler about to throw a tantrum, and Hylas placed a hand under his heavy head, watching her with both boredom and bitterness.

And then she moved.

She would bend the metal, he knew. She was strong enough for it.

But not strong enough for what coated it.

The Lady of Suria stepped back as if the metal had burned her. The force of it was so much, that she fell over, clutching her hands to her chest. Her eyes widened as she hissed, and looked down – to see her hands covered with red rashes. Hopelessly, and not without fear, she looked up at him.

“ _Ash_?” She spat.

“Not at all,” Hylas responded. “Ash residue does not last long. Rubbing its leaves on the surface of the metal would have little to no effect on you, since it’d be gone in a few hours.” Hylas smiled slightly. “That’s red verbena.”

“There’s no such thing,” The girl said, rising from the floor. “Not in Terrasen.”

“No,” Hylas said. “Not in _Terrasen_.”

His mother had been a skilled herbologist before she’d been killed. Hylas remembered his childhood being spent smelling deadly, toxic flowers that his mother would turn into medicine. His mother was good at that – turning the bad into something good.

If only she could do to people what she did to flowers.

Alas.

“It’s a hybrid flower,” Hylas explained. “It doesn’t sprout on its own. The smell is not pleasant, either, but at least it doesn’t burn your nose like ash does.”

The Lady of Suria stiffened, and her eyes narrowed, as if she’d just made the decision that she was done being afraid.

“You said you wanted me here for more than a few hours,” she said. “ _Why_.”

She’d asked him that question relentlessly. Hylas almost rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but then he sighed, rose to pace around the room again, and said, “Believe it or not, this is not about you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, my Lady.”

“And the male?” She said, almost impatiently. Like she was in a position to demand anything of him. “What have you done to him? And don’t lie. I can smell him. I know he’s down below.”

Down below – two stories underground.

“He put up a good fight,” Hylas shrugged. “Almost destroyed the cell upstairs in its entirety. So violent.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I had to drug him again, and bring him to the floor below. Seems he’s a little bit more persistent than you are when it comes to _not_ staying asleep.”

“You don’t want to do this,” she said, pacing like he was, a mirror of his movements. “I heard you apologize to me when you captured me. You look like you’re two seconds away from wetting yourself. Someone put you up to this. Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions, my Lady.”

“Answer me,” she growled.

Hylas stopped then, watching her. He tilted his head to the side, taking in her delicate, pretty features: the dark skin, the dazzling eyes, the soft mouth curved into a sneer, the darker freckles on her cheeks, as if she’d spent her days walking around in the sun. He swallowed hard, looking away.

“What?”

“You look like someone I used to know,” he murmured. Then shook his head. “The male is fine. And you will be too, if you can cooperate with me. I’m not here to harm you. I can lend you a hand, and potentially get you out of here, but you have to help me in return.”

The Lady of Suria stepped back, and turned to look at something over his shoulder. “That table – healers and medics use tables like those. Do you experiment on people here?” Her head snapped to the medical supplies in the glass cupboards, to residue containers, to the too-clean smell mixed with the verbena. Her delicate nose raised up in the air, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “Why would I help the male who captured me?”

“To save yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for _you_.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t decided to put your nose where you shouldn’t,” Hylas responded.

He could _feel_ her fury. Like waves crashing onto him.

“Blame the victim,” she whispered, deadly-quiet, “you-“

“Help me,” he said, approaching her, but staying a few feet away from her – just as a precaution, “help you.”

She raised her chin stubbornly. “The male comes with me,” she said. “I want him in front of my eyes, unharmed. I tell you what I know. Then I leave with him. _Unharmed_. _Both_ of us.”

Hylas pondered this. She was a liar, he knew. Not a skilled one, no, but she would not consider it below her to lie to save herself and those she cared for.

“Why are you so protective of him?” He asked, curious. “Are you lovers?”

“No,” she said, frowning. “Where I’m from, we protect our own.”

Hylas blinked. “He’s not your own. He doesn’t even look like you. He’s from a whole other continent.”

“So?” She spat, hands on her hips in challenge.

“So, if you’re willing to risk your life to save someone who you owe nothing to, then you’re more of a fool than I gave you credit for.”

“Foolishness isn’t helping other people when you’ve no ties to them,” she declared. “Foolishness is thinking I won’t skin you alive once I’m out of here if you dare to lay a hand on him – or on me.”

Hylas smiled. Then – noise beneath his feet made him look down. He sighed. “Your friend is awake again,” he drawled. “Nice talk, my Lady. I would ask you to reconsider our terms.”

“You reconsider,” she said.

Hylas stepped back, heading for the staircase that would lead him down below – where his master had his real fun.

“Wait,” she said, suddenly desperate. Breathless.

Hylas stopped, turning to look over his shoulder.

She breathed in. “I remember you. You’re the guard that offered to carry Oren when I arrived in Orynth. Were you hoping to snatch him then?”

Hylas shrugged. “I was hoping to get him somewhere no one would see. But you followed me like a cat following a mouse.”

“What do you want with him?”

“I cannot tell you that, my Lady.”

She bit her lip in quiet rage. And then, “Okay. Okay. Let him go. Let him go, willingly, unharmed, and I will stay in his place. I will tell you everything I know. _Everything_. But he walks away with his life.”

Hylas sighed softly. “Like I said, foolish.”

And then he walked away.

***

Atarah looked down at her hands.

What one touch had provoked… her skin opened in the middle of her palm, and she stifled the blood with a ripped piece of her nightshift. Her socks were stained with grass and dirt.

She would kill that guard.

The Lady of Suria seldom gave in to her instincts – those ancient, deadly instincts that sometimes begged to come to the surface. But now, as she sat in that cell with the foul smell of poisonous flowers, listening to Oren growling below her without being able to do anything…

She felt it rise – that anger. That bloodthirst.

It was not pretty.

As she wrapped her hand with the fabric, Atarah halted.

She looked down at her nightshift.

As light sparked in her mind, hurriedly, she ripped the hem of her nightshift, and ripped the socks that rose up to her thighs, too, making strips of fabric that she guarded in her lap. Once the fabric no longer dragged on the floor and slumped down to just over her knees, where it was skimming the line of indecent clothing, she began wrapping the ripped fabric over her hands, occasionally looking up and stopping to listen for footsteps. She worked fast. Atarah was surprised that her hands were calm, and steady, when they shouldn’t be, when she was behind a _cell door_ , possibly hours away from becoming an experiment, or worse – worm food.

Once her hands were tightly wrapped, Atarah rose and breathed in. The foul smell made her grimace, but Hylas had been right – the inside of her nose would be scaring now if it had been ash.

Slowly, she touched the bars.

Not as bad – but bad still.

Bad enough that stepped back again, snarling softly to herself. Atarah looked down at the fabric – it was in one piece, still. The residue from the poisonous flowers would only harm her skin.

But the fabric of her nightshift wasn’t enough to protect her.

Of course, it could not be that easy.

What else, then? What else could she try?

Her cell had little to nothing else that could help – an empty bucket lay slumped to one side, and what appeared to be a wooden bowl, either for food or water, discarded on the floor next to it-

Atarah remembered very little of her classes on herbology – but she knew that every poison had its antidote. Certainly there had to be antidotes for poisonous plants, too? The Lady of Suria searched her brain for the endless lists she’d looked over during her classes, attempting to remember-

She’d never heard of verbena before. What could she compare it to? Nightshade? But that had no such effect on the Fae. Ingested poisons worked differently from poisons that harmed you by touch, so perhaps… something stronger that she could shield herself with?

Atarah looked to the discarded water bowl.

What if the fabric was wet when it touched the bars?

Water could either act as a form of conduction for the poison, or…

Perhaps it could act as a wall. Something that might relieve the poison’s strength long enough for Atarah to be able to push the metal aside and walk through, and save Oren and herself-

A plan slowly formed. Hylas needed her, so he’d have to feed her eventually. He thought her foolish, and he underestimated her, which would come in handy – it meant that he would leave her alone enough time for her to carry out her plan.

She quickly unwrapped the strips of fabric and hid them in her cleavage. No, no. That would not do. Hylas would see the fabric cut to her legs, and he’d ask questions.

Atarah flung the fabric to the corner of the cell, as if it had been discarded. It looked defenceless and innocent enough. She’d tell him it had gotten unbearably hot, which was not untrue, and perhaps he’d give her some water then, too.

_There’s hope_ , she thought. _I can do this._

Atarah listened on for Oren. He’d gone silent. Steps sounded – Hylas was coming back up the stairs. Atarah managed to wipe up all hope from her eyes, her features schooled into anger that came abhorrently easily.

_I can do this._

_I can do this._

_I can do this._

***

“Where am I,” he whispered, as if in shock, as if he could not believe that he was looking down at her, on their hole on the floor, that they’d formed-

Luna was petrified.

His wings still shielded her from falling gravel and dust. A leaf fell onto his hair, sliding down his curls to land on her cheek. With her shock, Luna didn’t even move it.

They watched each other.

She caught him.

She caught him mid-fall.

Seren’s hand touched her cheek, like they hadn’t fallen together into the earth, but like they’d just been lying down on the grass all night, for no apparent reason. Luna breathed in as Seren gently pushed that leaf away from her cheek, his eyes meeting hers. Blue skies. Gentle skies.

_He’s here._

Without thinking, Luna wrapped her arms around him, pulling him impossibly close. She did not think about the fact that they had dug up a whole in the gardens, did not care think of anything at all except him, and that he was here, _he is here_ , and after hours and hours of weeping on her own, she was surprised at how much she did not hate herself for wanting to have him hold her in return.

Seren huffed a bit at her strength, before holding her back. Goddess – his heart was racing. He could have _died_.

Luna pulled back, blinking. “The guards,” she whispered.

“W-What?” Seren muttered.

The guards would be on their way here by now – they would hear the noise, and they would know that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be-

“Oh, Goddess, oh, Goddess,” Luna murmured, pushing Seren off her. “Get up, get up, get up.”

Seren stumbled back, tripping over his massive wings.

Luna’s body ached and her shoulder blades stung as she rose, looking around the damage. She gasped. A _crater_ had formed where they’d previously stood. They created a _whole crater._

Seren seemed as shocked as she was, and ready to ask all sorts of questions, but they didn’t have time. She didn’t have time.

“I’m going to teleport you to my room, and then I’m going to come back and fix this, okay?”

“Luna, wait-“

“There’s no time to waste,” she hurriedly said.

As a precaution, she took both his hands – last time she’d teleported with someone else, she’d almost lost her grip. Luna breathed out, concentrated, or attempted to, and pictured her room – the cream sheets of her bed, the feel of the carpet beneath her bare feet, her old armoire that she’d drawn in when she was a child-

A _woosh_ sound rang in her ears, then turned into a high-pitch whistle, and the feeling of being sucked into a black hole made her feel sick to her stomach. Luna could feel Seren’s agitation as she gripped his hands tighter, but before either of them could react, they were standing in Luna’s chambers.

Seren stumbled over, unused to such a sensation, and Luna instinctively wrapped her arms around his frame, steadying him.

“Hey,” she whispered softly, trying to keep her voice calm. “It’s alright.”

She led him to her bed, but her gaze travelled to her window as she helped him sit. The guards still had a long way to go to reach the place where she’d caught Seren, but she had to hurry, or else-

“Luna,” Seren said breathlessly, touching her hands as if to assure himself that she was real. “Where am I?”

Luna took in a shaky breath. She couldn’t believe what she’d done, what she’d been capable of doing.

_You made a wish, didn’t you?_

_Well, here he is._

Oh, Goddess.

“Welcome to Terrasen,” Luna said. “My home.”

“You-”

“It was an accident, I didn’t even know I could bring you here, I’ve never even tried to get someone to come to me, least of all someone from another world,” she stuttered, then looked out the window again. “Look, I’ll try to explain everything, but please stay calm and stay here. I have to distract the guards.”

He pulled at her hand insistently. “Why are guards after you?”

“They’re not after me.”

He looked around, finally taking in her chambers. “Are we…” he whispered, “…in a palace?” Seren ran his free hand through his hair, his eyes wide. “You have… guards.”

“I’m a Lady of this palace,” she cringed. “I’ll explain, I promise. Please stay here.”

Luna felt unimaginably cold as she let go of his hand and took a step back. She turned her back on Seren, and then she breathed, closing her eyes, picturing that crater-

This time, she really had to place her hands on a nearby tree to steady herself as Luna landed close to the place where she’d caught Seren. When she thought her stomach would surely be emptied somewhere, she managed to keep it all in, thanks to the Goddess, and observe the mess she’d made. Something dripped down her back – blood, by the smell of it.

_Oh, no. Goddess, no._ How would she hide this? How does one hide a hole in the earth?

Luna looked to the tree beside her. Compared its size to the crater.

She did not have time to think this through.

The guards would be here any second.

“Fuck,” Luna whispered. She looked to the tree. “I’m so sorry.”

She ran back.

Luna shook her hands as if that would shake off her nerves. She breathed in. Once, twice. Gathered her strength. It was now or never. It was the only option she had.

_Okay. Okay._

_Courage, Luna_.

With one last apology to the poor tree, Luna sprinted. With each step, time seemed to slow before her – but she knew such a thing was impossible; she was just faster than most things. Luna braced her hands, ten feet away, nine, eight… she closed her eyes, and-

_Push_.

Her collision with the tree almost sent her flying forward, but Luna dug her heels into the ground to stop herself, her hands stinging with the impact-

_Crack_.

A cluster of wings boomed, leaves began to fall, and the tree bark finally gave in. Luna watched it fall in front of her, and land right on top of the crater she’d created – the perfect cover-up.

And an unfortunate one, too.

Before the tree fully settled down, voices came from around the corner. Luna breathed in, closed her eyes, and _stepped_ -

Right before it.

Her dizziness took over. She’d done enough teleporting for one night. But Luna managed to place herself in a non-suspicious way, right when the guards rounded the gardens. Luna then remembered her back, and how bloody it must have looked, so she turned as if in surprise, staring open-mouthed at the guards.

“Did you see that?” Luna said, pointing to the tree, stepping back, too, as if it could bite her. “I heard the noise and I just had to come investigate.”

“My Lady,” a guard said, raising his sword. “Please step away from the damage.”

She almost rolled her eyes, but did as she was told, keeping herself a few paces away so they wouldn’t smell blood on her. A female walked over, though, inspecting the tree. “Do you smell that?” She asked her colleagues.

Luna’s palms began to sweat. _Fuck. They smell Seren._

“This was certainly the work of a huge winged beast,” Luna muttered, shaking her head. “Like those of the Staghorn Mountains. Perhaps a wyvern? It wouldn’t be the first time a clumsy bird wrecked one of our trees.”

The guards looked at one another. The female narrowed her eyes at the damage, but then shrugged, and simply said, “You should not teleport away from your protectors at this time, my Lady, it’s very dangerous.”

“Oh, yes, you’re very right,” Luna said. “I was very impulsive.”

“Do you wish for us to call for your father, my Lady?”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, wrapping her robe more tightly around her. Hopefully, in the dark, they missed the stains on it, and the rips at her back. “I would like to go to my room, please.”

“Very well, my Lady.”

In the cover of darkness, Luna walked a few paces ahead of the guards, and when she was at the palace’s doors, she dismissed them gently, against all their protests. When they were out of sight, Luna sprinted back to her rooms, afraid of teleporting once more and fully exhausting herself.

Seren was standing near the window, his mouth opened, as if mid-scream.

When she came in, Luna immediately pulled the door closed behind her, and stared at him in both wonder and pure shock.

She’d done it.

She’d brought him here.

That had never been the plan, but-

But he was here.

Seren didn’t bother to hide his wings from her as he stared between her and the window. “Did you tear down that tree?”

Gods. If Seren had managed to see that, then others might have seen it, too.

Luna had some prayers to say tonight.

She walked to him slowly, like she was afraid of startling him. It wasn’t exactly untrue – she was afraid of startling him. Of him disappearing. Of never seeing him again. The last time, she hadn’t teleported herself to him, which had almost made her feel… strange. Why did her body suddenly break the pattern?

Why had it brought her to him at all?

“Yes,” she said, staring at him. And then: “You’re here.”

“How…” he murmured, then shook his head. “So you’re a Lady.”

Luna smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t think it was relevant to mention.”

“Ah,” he smiled then, a little nervously. “I suppose it would not be good for anyone to see me?”

Luna’s smile faltered a little. “They all know of you.” A pause. She felt awkward, for some reason – having this conversation with him. “I didn’t hide you. They’re just protective. I would rather not have anyone know you’re here, at least for the time being. Until we can get you home.”

Seren’s eyes flashed with something she couldn’t quite read. It was gone before she could ask.

He paced around the room – that’s when she noticed his clothes. He wasn’t wearing his casual tunic or trousers, but much more formal clothes instead: his black tunic was embroidered with gold swirls amidst stars, his trousers matching. His shoes were polished and his hair had been pushed back. He’d been in the middle of something, clearly.

Seren caught her watching him and explained, “We were on a political trip.”

Luna bit her fingernail nervously. “So your family must be asking where you are.”

“I hadn’t left home still when I… well, when I suddenly began to fall – they might miss me in a few hours.”

Luna closed her eyes. “Let me try to get you back. If I can-”

“No, absolutely not.”

Luna looked up at his tone, blinking. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said softly. “You’re bleeding, for one. And your skin looks almost grey. You caught me in mid-air and went back to bring down a tree to cover it all up. I can’t let you teleport, Luna. You’ll hurt yourself.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Are you sure?”

“If it’s not any inconvenience that I stay until you’re well enough…” he trailed off.

“No,” she said too quickly. Clearing her throat, Luna said softly, “No, of course not. I was the one to bring you here. If anyone’s an inconvenience, it’s me.”

Seren’s face soured. “Don’t say that,” he murmured.

Luna lowered her eyes, sniffing slightly. The events of the last few days weighed on her like stones inside her heart. If Luna let herself go, she imagined sinking into the ground.

Seren walked to her.

She almost wanted to take a step back, as the full force of him, of his power, wrapped around her like a whirlwind. He reached over, but then seemed to check himself, and lowered his hand. His eyes were concerned, and it made her heart hurt.

“I’m fine,” she said again, trying to convince herself more.

“What happened?” He asked.

Luna didn’t like how easily he could pick up on things – specially how easy it was for him to pick up on her moods. They’d met, what? Three, four times, now? Hours of conversation did not grant someone a clear path to your mind.

But maybe he was different.

Luna sat on the bed, shaking her head to herself. “I... things are not okay here.”

She felt the dip of the mattress as Seren sat down next to her. It felt oddly comforting to have him listen to her again. Silences with Seren were never weighted with awkwardness or anxiousness – it felt like sitting in silence with an old friend. 

Perhaps that’s what scared her the most, and what made her unwilling to pour her heart out to him; Seren had already found his way in, and if she opened that door… Luna was terrified that she would never be able to close it again.

And behind that door, the thing she called a heart was incredibly damaged.

Having him seeing that…

If he hadn’t run from her already, he would surely run from _that_.

Seren drew closer, and Luna almost reached out and took his hand – which would be _very_ stupid. She folded her hands in her lap instead, and when she turned to look at him, Seren was watching her patiently, worried lines kissing his face.

She sighed softly. “There are people, dangerous people, that wish to harm us.”

“Who are they?”

“We don’t know,” Luna muttered. “Well, we have a clue, but practically no way to find them. Yesterday…” Luna swallowed the lump in her throat, and closed her eyes, attempting to get the words out, “my friend was kidnapped. She’d brought in a male who apparently had news for Aelin – Aelin is our Queen – and we have reason to believe that he’d come to warn us that something like this might happen. Both of them are gone, and Calia-” Luna stared out the window, as if she could see all the way to the rose garden, where Calia rested. “Calia was my guard, and my friend, and she died yesterday trying to stop the captor.”

Seren was silent for a while, taking it all in.

Luna’s heart gave a painful beat, and she thought maybe she’d freaked him out and pushed him away, but then Seren took her hand, intertwined their fingers, and gently murmured, “I am so sorry.”

Luna stared at their hands, her heart stopping dead in her chest. Then she looked up, but was unable to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“What can I do?”

She blinked, then met his eyes at last. “There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do, either, which…”

“Kills you.”

“Exactly,” Luna whispered. “Father says he’ll go with me to look for Atarah and the male, but we have no idea where they might be. For all I know she might be-”

Seren squeezed her hand. “She’s not.” His voice rose above hers, so she wouldn’t have to hear the words her heart so desperately did not want to know. “I don’t know this world, and I know I have only just arrived, but I assure you that whoever is doing this will be found.”

Even if he was just saying that to make her feel better, Luna believed it.

She had to believe it. Or else she’d crumble to dust.

“Seren,” Luna said.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I yanked you out of your world and had you falling endlessly through unknown skies. That really must have sucked for you.”

Seren gave a little smile, and Luna’s mouth felt very dry at the way Seren’s thumb kept dragging over hers. “Never mind that. I’m glad you caught me. Which reminds me,” he turned to look at her back and frowned. “Luna, we have to take care of that.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he said, “you’re bleeding.” He got up, and let go of her hand, which made her want to cling harder to him. “Can you…”

A knock on her door made them both freeze. Luna and Seren eyed each other, and then Luna gestured and murmured, “It’s my maid, it’s fine, it’s fine.”

“My Lady?”

Luna mouthed, “She’s human, she can’t smell you.”

“Ah,” Seren murmured.

“My… My Lady?”

“Yes, Margaret?”

“I’ve come to… deliver your supper, my Lady. Is everything alright?”

That’s right – Luna never locked her door. She sighed quietly, and walked over, hiding Seren from view as she cracked the door open. She smiled as gently as she could, and said to Margaret, “I’m very sorry to make you wait, Margaret, I just felt like it would be best to lock my door, you know-”

Margaret’s older face wrinkled in worry. “Oh, yes, my Lady. Of course, you do well to do such a thing. May no harm come to you, my darling girl.”

Luna took the tray from the woman’s hands and touched her hand. “Margaret.”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Please retire now,” she said softly. “Whatever duties arise, they may wait until the morning. I need to know that you are safe.”

Margaret seemed to find that extremely offensive. “My Lady,” the woman said with a mother’s voice. “What about getting you dressed for bed?”

“Margaret, I’ve been dressing myself for bed ever since I was a child, please not this again-”

“What if you need anything?”

“I shall get it myself, I’m a big girl.” Luna heard a little breath behind her then, and went very still. Seren – he was _laughing_. Quickly, before Margaret could go any further, she said, “Dearest Margaret, please go to sleep. For my peace of mind, if not for your safety.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes, but then she sighed, resigned, and said, “Of course. I will leave you be, my Lady.”

Luna watched Margaret go out of her sight, making sure that the maid was headed towards her own chambers, and then she closed the door again.

At Seren’s amused smile, Luna blushed slightly. “Margaret worries.”

“The poor woman. How many heart attacks have you given her?”

She lowered her eyes. “When I was small, she caught me climbing the tree and gave me a scolding session that I will never forget.” She paused. “Believe it or not, this is how everyone treats me.”

Seren shifted his eyes to the window. “I wonder if that would change if they knew what you did tonight.”

Luna placed the tray on her bed and said, “Eat. I’ll go wash this blood off.”

“You eat,” he said. “You need the energy, Luna.”

“I can sneak something from the kitchens later,” she said, walking towards her bathing chamber.

But Seren’s voice stopped her, “I know it’s not any of my business, and this question is as intrusive as it is worried. But have you even eaten today?”

Luna halted.

Had she?

She couldn’t remember. Hunger was very far away from her list of worries. Luna sighed, and dropped the ripped robe to the floor. “No.”

“So,” Seren said firmly, “I’ll help you clean that wound, and dress it properly before it gets infected. And then we’ll eat.”

She gave him a little sad smile over her shoulder. Whatever part of her she could still gather, she showed in that smile.

“You’re good at compromise,” she drawled.

“I’m good at many things,” Seren smiled. “But do you know what I’m absolutely terrific at? Dressing wounds.”

Luna looked to the harsh-looking scar on his left forearm, the rest of it hiding underneath his tunic. She believed him. How many battles had those eyes seen, she wondered? He probably thought her pampered after her conversation with Margaret, which was not an outright lie. She was pampered. Nurtured. Coddled, even. Even if Luna could not deny the blessing it was, to have people to look after her in such a way, it still made her think that Seren would not be the type to do so.

In his eyes, she was not something to shield.

She liked that.

She liked that more than she was willing to admit.

“Fine, then,” she said at last, and gestured with her head for him to follow her. “Prove yourself, talons.”

***

María was made up entirely of nervous butterflies, she was certain.

After she’d gotten home that night, she’d replayed her conversation with that strange boy in the darkened hours. How strange he was.

How curious.

She could not believe how forward she’d been with him. It was unlike her. But something had bit at her in the back of her mind, and even as she spoke to him, she’d heard an invisible clock somewhere far away, telling her that with each second that passed, she was closer to never seeing him again.

And that wouldn’t do.

That wouldn’t do at all.

She couldn’t explain it – the way she’d been drawn to him. Not like a moth circling a flame, but like two stars orbiting each other.

Was this what poets described as love at first sight?

Could it really be?

She doubted it. Love was too big of a word. It was _too much_. But maybe…

Perhaps it had been something right _before_ love and after attraction.

She almost expected not to see him – maybe he’d forgotten her in the days that had passed. But when she arrived in that same café as last time – there he was.

Just as strangely dressed.

Just as otherworldly beautiful.

Every anxious thought vanished as they walked along the streets together, as if by magic – just like the last time, the moment he laid eyes on her, she felt a sense of calm embrace her, the way that people feel whenever their loved ones are near. Safe. Happy.

It was as unsettling as it was good.

She asked him more questions. And made sure to notice the way his posture changed whenever he lied. 

He lied a whole lot.

Mostly about where he came from. He was bad at it. Terrible. But he was not dangerous, that much she could tell. They’d been walking for half an hour alone on the beach, and he still could barely look at her – and when he did, he _giggled_.

It was adorable, actually. If you looked past the lying – which she didn’t.

“Do I make you nervous?” She asked him when they sat down, their bare feet on wet sand and their shoes thrown together in a messy tangle. María watched a wave part, tickling her toes.

Aidan smiled slightly, in what had become a familiar way to María – sweet, and almost shy. Hesitant, even. “You terrify me.”

“I’m adorable,” she proclaimed, “that makes no sense.”

He finally looked at her. María’s throat closed at those eyes – the colour of the sea, sparkling in her way. It bothered her so much, what those eyes made her feel, that she turned to look at the waves instead.

“Well, it’s not you, exactly,” Aidan said. “Just, the ability that you have to see through me.”

María smiled. “In all fairness, I see through most people,” a pause. “I’m like my mother in that way.” She bit the inside of her cheek then, hesitating before asking her next question.

“You’ve questions,” he noted.

“You don’t give me many answers,” she said softly.

Aidan was silent, and she could see a sort of conflict in him again. The setting sun touched his midnight hair, and María almost wanted to reach out and push it away from his eyes.

“We are all allowed to have secrets,” she continued. “You’re just a puzzle to me at this point.”

“A puzzle,” he said, tasting the word in his mouth. “Like a riddle?”

María raised a brow. “There was never one or the other that I could not solve. Just saying.”

Aidan leaned back in the sand, watching the waves. “Here’s a piece of truth: I like you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her heart in knots.

“But I cannot stay,” Aidan said.

María paused. “Are you a wanted criminal?”

It had meant to come out as a joke, but her tone was heavy, and she’d then realized that it had been a little small question ringing in the back of her mind for a while.

Aidan laughed outright. “A criminal? Like an outlaw?”

“You don’t strike me as the type,” María said. “We’re on a deserted beach, though, you can’t blame me for asking.” At her smile, Aidan’s widened.

“No, not at all,” Aidan said. Then turned serious, and furrowed his brows. “I am… something that you cannot imagine.”

“Like a unicorn?”

“What’s a unicorn?” Aidan looked at her.

“I don’t know what’s that supposed to translate to in your language, but like,” she cocked her head to the side, “like a horse with a horn in the middle of its forehead. It’s said to be magical.”

“Where does it live?”

María laughed softly. “Nowhere. It’s magical. It’s not real.”

Aidan paused, as if he’d concluded something, his eyes squinting slightly. “Right. Of course.”

“So you can’t stay,” she said, humour slipping out of her voice. “You’ve to go back,” she nodded mechanically, “to your country, in the north, the one you have not given a name to.”

“It’s better this way.”

He was worse than any puzzle, any riddle. There was always an answer to those, but for Aidan… there was no answer.

And maybe she should stop trying.

“Better for whom?”

Aidan drew his brows together at the question. Instead of answering her, he rose, and when she thought he’d just walk away, he reached out a hand. Hesitating for just half a second, María then took it. Sea air blew over them, the freezing water dragging over her calves, drenching her jeans.

Goodbyes were always so bitter.

She hated them.

“I was impulsive to ask to see you again,” Aidan said, his closeness making her shiver. “Impulsive and stupid.”

_Why_ , the word was trapped in her mouth, but she shook her head. He wouldn’t answer her, so she didn’t bother to ask.

_This is stupid_ , she thought to herself. _This shouldn’t hurt. You’ve known him for days. Days._

_He is nothing._

_He means nothing._

_Snap out of it._

“Okay,” she said, bracing herself. It was too cold to come to this beach. It was too cold inside her. “See you, Aidan.”

He approached her, as if he’d hug her, but hesitating, silently asking permission.

María couldn’t look at him one bit. She saw a sadness in his eyes that was as strange as he was, and that shouldn’t be there. It shouldn’t even be in hers.

She hugged him still, closing her eyes when she felt his lips touch the top of her head. Before their embrace even began, he pulled back, as if she’d burned him, and said nothing else – he grabbed his shoes, and headed away.

María turned to the sea, bitter and confused.

_What._

_**What**._

_No_ , she thought. _This is fine. This is great_.

_I am so confused._

She walked the length of the beach, clearing her head before she got home and her family saw it all on her face and asked questions she most definitely couldn’t answer.

She reached a tiny alcove, mossy caves coming into view. It smelled of salt and decay, but she still stood in the waves, watching the far away horizon.

The waves whistled and hissed against each other, forming foam patterns under her feet. She watched them, thinking that maybe she should try to paint that when she got home. María was in the middle of taking out her journal from her back to make a little sketch when, all of a sudden, she felt the sea grip her ankles.

Like _hands_.

She stumbled and fell back, her journal flying over ahead. Her heart beat in her throat as she lifted herself up, drenched in sea water. The girl panted, watching the shore as if it could bite her. Instinctively, her eyes lowered to her calves.

Those were fingerprints. On her skin. Right there.

_What._

She stepped further back, feet digging into the sand, and made to walk out of that alcove. When she bent over to pick up her journal, it happened.

Whatever had clawed at her did it again, so fast she had no reaction but to let her body slip into the sand. Her first thought was to grab onto the rocks, but they too were wet, making her hands slip; she dug them into the sand then, unable to scream as something _dragged_ her into the water.

Something she could not see.

María kicked and screamed, but before she knew it, she was underwater, with no way to escape.


	13. Chapter 13

Eldon was bloody.

He hid it well enough for the guards at the gates to let him through without any questions, but then again, the two guards he’d seen were both pissed drunk, bored to death, and close to falling asleep, so Eldon took the chance gladly, before the rest of the guards joined them for the night shift.

He rode inside, making his way to the stables and inconspicuous as possible. Eldon knew that avoiding his parents was not one of his brightest ideas, for they would eventually find out just by looking at his face, but also, if you think about it, riding to the Staghorn Mountains by himself to find a mythical portal couldn’t also be categorized as One of Eldon’s Greatest Ideas Ever, so, you know, whatever. 

Avoiding his parents tonight would give him enough time to think of some sort of excuse.

Eldon dismounted, and placed his horse back onto its pen, but before he could rid himself of his riding leathers, he saw a figure enter the stables. He turned, but the figure moved swiftly: it grabbed him by his collar and turned Eldon to face it.

It glared at him.

“Ah, fuck.”

Eva Ashryver stared at him like she might finish what Ragana had planned to do all along.

“You miserable dog,” Eva said. “You have no idea what’s happened whilst you disappeared. Your brother has been worried _sick_ for you. We _all_ have. Do you know what it took to keep Elide and Lorcan from your room? By this time, I’m sure they suspect something, but I swear to the Goddess, Eldon, if you pull another one of these, and I see Ragnar loose hair over worrying for you, I will-“ She stopped then, looking down at his nose. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Eldon sighed as Eva let him go. He hadn’t noticed she’d managed to pull him off the ground, only when his feet settled down on it.

“Listen, Evie, I get it, I’m sorry. It’s a really long story – I think we should go see Luna. Bring Ragnar, too. Andrik, if he’s around.”

“Andrik has gone to Perranth,” Eva said, looking at Eldon sideways. “He asked me to give you a beating in his name.”

“Lovely.”

“It’s what you deserve,” she said. Then softened slightly – but just slightly. “Eldon, what happened?”

“I’d rather just tell this story once,” Eldon murmured. “Get Luna. We’ll meet in my chambers, and I’ll tell you what happened and you… you will tell me what happened here. It seems we have plenty to discuss.”

***

Luna flinched.

And Seren apologized for the tenth time. He was being incredibly gentle with cleaning her wounds, but she hadn’t quite realized just how bad her back was.

She felt very exposed with the top of her spine visible, her robe pooling on her elbows, and bunched up at the front. Even if she was completely covered up where it mattered to her, having Seren looking at the bareness of her spine and shoulder blades felt…

Well – not as awkward as it should have felt, but awkward enough still.

She managed to forget all about it at the first touch of alcohol over her wounds.

After another apology, Seren murmured quietly, as he dragged a cotton pad over her back. “Convenient – having alcohol and bandages right under your dresser.”

“I was a clumsy youngling,” Luna muttered. “My fathers always had to clean my scraped knees and bind scratches on my arms.”

“I guess that has not changed.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t _usually_ go around catching winged males off the skies.”

Seren outright laughed, then seemed to remember himself and hushed his tone. For that brief second, Luna’s heart cleared. Like a sunray splitting the clouds. “I’m sure you don’t. Just the usual tree-killing, then?”

“Poor tree,” Luna whispered, her remorse too real. “She had a good life.”

Seren looked at his work, and then, “You know your family will smell the blood on you. Even if you bathe. You will have to explain it to them.”

Luna lifted one shoulder, staring out at the dark window. “I’ll find an explanation. I always do.”

He seemed to pause in preparation for another question, but Seren did not speak. Luna turned to look over her shoulder to find him staring at her spine in thoughtfulness.

She could read his face well enough. “I think… maybe I can teleport other people too.” When Seren met her eyes, Luna tore hers away from him and lowered her gaze to the clean bandages, speaking almost to herself. “Amara had a theory that my powers could extend far beyond my imagination. Maybe this is what she meant. Maybe there are no limits to what I can do.”

Seren seemed to consider this. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Luna said softly. In the quiet, sitting on the tiled floor of her bathing chamber with Seren’s massive wings folded neatly behind him and the scent of citrus and sea in the air, Luna felt… peaceful. It had been a long, long time since she found the silence comforting.

Luna had always dreaded silences.

Everytime a conversation died, she had to be the one to pick it back up again. Everytime she walked into a silent room, she’d immediately talk to all of those present. She could always keep a conversation going, and her biggest fear was silence, and to be silenced.

After Leander was gone, there was a lot of hollowed silences.

People didn’t wish to speak of him, but they also didn’t really wish to speak of anything else because it wouldn’t have seemed appropriate, and so a lot of the times, Luna found that she walked into a lot of silent rooms. People’s conversations would drift into the air and silence would settle in the moment she appeared. She knew it was normal.

Luna could never blame her family for avoiding Leander, for wanting Luna to move on and forget. They did what they thought was best for her. But… after so many months without him, she’d almost wished to yell his name into that silence and see what people made of it. She could still move on without ever forgetting that happiness, and that sadness, that Leander brought into her life. She could still smile her way through her days without erasing his face or his touch or his words from her heart.

Silence is nothing but knives digging into your skin. The more it spreads, the more you bleed.

With Seren here, with him tending to her wounds, Luna thought that maybe this kind of silence wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t really something to fear, but something comforting. Like a warm blanket after a nice dinner. It was the kind of silence that offered opportunity for speech, without it ever putting a weight on your shoulders to open your mouth.

It was the right kind of silence.

“Seren?” She asked softly.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry that I snatched you out of your home,” she said, turning back around. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

He hesitated, his hands paused over her back. They were warm, and inviting, his fingers long and sculpted – it reminded her of artists’ hands, though he didn’t seem like the type. From his mother, she supposed. A tingle rose up her back, sending electrical currents through her veins as he placed the first bandage on her skin.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Luna,” he said, just as softly, like the words could only be meant for her to hear, and the moon and the stars had no business listening in. After a moment’s pause, Seren said, “You’re all done.”

Luna rolled her shoulders and winced slightly. “Yes,” Seren said, both compassion and pity in his voice. “It’ll hurt. I never thanked you for catching me. I could’ve shielded you with the wings, but I didn’t-“

“You didn’t have time,” she finished for him, hunching her robe back up, and then turning to him. They sat on the floor still, and somehow the sight of Seren leaning against her bath tub was not as strange as it could’ve been. “Hey, I would be a pretty bad host if I let you fall, given the fact that I was the one to _make_ you fall in the first place... also, you would have shredded your beautiful wings.”

A delicate raise of one strong eyebrow. “You think my wings are beautiful?”

“What.”

“What?” Seren said cheekily.

It dawned on her, the compliment she’d thrown at him as if it were nothing, the word that had slipped from her mouth without her noticing – and the weight of her on her tongue now made her mouth dry.

She paused. “Of course I think so,” she whispered, her eyes travelling over the patterns on the bath mat. Luna blinked as she realized it was covered with butterflies – how had she never noticed that before?

“I thought I’d frightened you,” he murmured, “the first night we met.”

Luna wished he didn’t look at her for so long. She wished he could look at her all the time. It wasn’t a fun contradiction.

“You didn’t frighten me,” Luna said, finding the courage to look up at him. “I guess… what frightened me was that I wasn’t frightened. Not at all. I don’t think I could ever be.” Luna sniffed, wrapping her arms around herself. “And I’m frightened of a lot of things.”

“But not of me,” he whispered, like the words pleased him too much.

“Yes,” Luna said. “I mean- no. No, I could never be frightened of you.” He laughed under his breath in such a pretty way that her gaze travelled over his features: the crinkle of his eyes, the gentleness of his smile. Seren had the prettiest smile she’d ever seen – nice, and kind, and open, but leaning towards mischievousness, even when he was being perfectly honest.

_Leander, I’m so sorry._

_I hope you can forgive me when we meet again._

“You’re beautiful,” she said slowly, testing the words, seeing how her heart reacted to them first, before she sought his own reaction. Surprisingly, they didn’t taste wrong in her mouth. And her heart only felt a little bit of remorse – but it didn’t kill her this time. “And kind. And despite the trouble that it brought us both, I wouldn’t take it back if I could: finding you.” She paused, looking down at her hands. They were still bruised. But they could heal. That’s the important reminder: they _could_ , and eventually _would_ , heal. At her own pace. At her own will. “That night,” she continued, closing her eyes at the memory, still doubtful if she should tell him, but knowing deep down that she wanted, and needed to, “when I first teleported into… your bed, I’d fallen asleep on the edge of the woods.” A pause. “There are good days. And then there are the terrible, bad days. That day was not a good one. And that night was even worse. I’d spoken to Leander’s stone that night, trying to make sense of my own feelings, trying to… I’m not sure. Maybe trying to ease some of that pain.”

“Leander,” Seren said, emotion brimming his eyes, “the person you loved and lost.”

“He was human,” she whispered.

Seren looked like he’d been slapped.

“I know what you think,” Luna murmured. “That it was doomed from the start, but that’s not… that’s not it. It wasn’t. He’d wanted to bind his life to mine. That’s what we’d planned. And then he…” Luna paused, trailing her eyes across the butterflies between them, imagining them taking flight, like painful words flying out of her heart. “When he got sick, he refused to.”

“He changed his mind?”

“He was certain that he would never recover, and he was right,” Luna said. “Nothing would be of help: not binding his life to mine, no mating bond, if such a thing is even real, no-“

“Mating bond?” Seren murmured.

Luna looked up, and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “I thought that we… nevermind.” She realized his question then. “Oh, you probably call it something else, hum… it’s the bond between two souls-“

“We call it exactly that,” he said softly, turning his eyes to the butterflies.

“Oh,” Luna said, and swallowed down. “Yes, well, Leander wasn’t…” she trailed off, and sighed, “but it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Of course not,” Seren said gently. “When you love someone that much, nothing could ever come and ruin it. Even a mating bond.”

“Exactly,” Luna said. “Thank you for listening.” She smiled then, strangely relieved. “It’s good to speak of him. To say his name.”

Seren surprised her by leaning in and touching her bruised hand. When she thought he’d clean her wounds there too, he just held it. _I am here,_ that gesture said. _And I won’t leave, not really._

That gentle silence embraced them. Seren didn’t ask how long ago it had happened, because he knew that a loss like that did not have a time stamp on it. Pain lasted for as long as it could, even if you locked it in a box for the entirety of your life, it was still there, like a memory you couldn’t get rid of.

He said, “I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand. “You deserved better. You both did.”

Luna smiled sadly. “Yes, we did.”

Seren let out a long, strained sigh, and murmured, “My brother’s mate is a human.”

Luna breathed in. “Oh.”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “He decided to go to her, instead of… joining us today.”

“You don’t approve.”

“I can’t tell my brother I don’t approve of it, I just…” Seren lowered his eyes. “I know things can go differently. But hearing your story…”

“Hey,” Luna said. “It can be different. Trust him. If his instincts tell him to go for it, then trust him.”

“But all that he might he find at the end is pain,” Seren said.

Luna smiled, and squeezed his hand back. “That’s the price we have to pay for love. Wouldn’t you pay it, even if you didn’t know if you’d be rewarded at the end? Wouldn’t you take that fall?”

Seren looked at her for a long second. Luna thought he’d maybe laugh at her, scoff at her, or shake his head at her. But after that one long second, that dragged out pause, Seren murmured, “I would.”

His eyes dipped down – to her lips.

Luna’s heart constricted in her chest, as if Seren had placed his hands on both sides of her ribcage, and was now pushing in, until her heart no longer fit in her chest.

_Leander, I’m sorry._

“I’m going to do something,” Luna whispered, unblinking.

Seren watched her, lips parted. “Okay.”

Letting out a shaking breath, and without letting go of his hand, Luna rose on her knees and moved forward. They were shoulder-to-shoulder, knee-to-knee, and she might die if she erases any more distance between them, but her heart felt wild and big in her chest, and when you pay the price once, you might as well pay it again, especially if you cannot break any more pieces of yourself.

Especially if you do not have much else to lose.

“Luna,” Seren said, both in awe, and in worry.

She said, “I know it’s crazy. This is insane. But you’ve crawled inside and now I can’t get you out.”

Her voice was so soft. She couldn’t find her voice. Though her words rang true – Seren had stumbled into her heart earlier than she cared to admit, and ever since, no matter how many she avoided thinking of him, there he was. It wasn’t irrational, not completely. Seren saw her. He was there. He cared. A lot of people cared, it was true, but none of them cared like Seren did.

If she’d wanted to take flight, Seren wouldn’t advise her not to. He’d most likely take the fall with her.

At her confession, his face transformed. Like he’d never been told such a thing – which Luna found difficult to fathom. It was like Seren had to blink his way through her words, trying to find any other meaning for them.

Of all the things she thought he’d say, Seren simply met her eyes with: “You want to get me out?”

His question startled her.

Though it was obvious, wasn’t it?

Hadn’t it been obvious for a while?

“No,” she said, stunned. “I don’t.”

His eyes flashed with untold emotions. Seren took her other hand, made to pull her closer, but Luna was ahead of him – she crawled into his lap, and gasped at the contact. His hands on her waist. His eyes on hers. The back of her thighs sliding against his.

_Woosh._

A dark curtain wrapped around her, carrying with it the scent of midnight skies. Wings. He’d wrapped his wings around her. Her soon-to-be favourite shelter.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she whispered to him, for only him to hear.

Luna hesitated, then remembered to be brave. Her heart gave a little jump as she reached out with both hands, and touched her fingertips to his face. This close to him, Luna felt electric. Nothing had slipped away, of course – the anger and the frustration and the fear at what had happened only the night before were knives of their own slashing into her. But Seren-

She would get her friend back.

She would get revenge for those she loved.

She would conquer.

“I will kiss you,” she said, looking at Seren for any signs of him pulling back.

But he didn’t.

He stared at her like he might stare at a grand, endless starry sky – with equally endless wonder, with bright eyes, with the prospect that something great was waiting there.

“Kiss me, then,” Seren said, unmoving.

Her fingers tingled at feeling his skin – he’d recently shaved his face, but she could still feel the little hairs prickling the pads of her fingers. The softness and roughness of his jaw took her aback. It was a contrast that she wouldn’t mind getting used to.

Luna leaned in close, close enough to touch her brow to his. Carefully, she ran her thumbs over his jawline. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feel of his breath sweeping past her lips. She kissed the corner of his mouth, testing the waters, willing to see how far she would let herself go. The brief taste of him snapped her mind awake, and his intake of breath had Luna drifting ever so close to him, yearning for more.

A banging at her door made her jump in his lap, and instinctively, Seren’s wings tucked her in close, protectively.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

Luna squeezed her eyes shut as if that would erase everything around her but Seren. She’d known that she’d have to face her family – and she’d face the guards, and most likely the Queen herself after they managed to lift that tree and look at the damage and put two and two together.

Seren went predatorily still.

“Eva,” Luna whispered. Neither of them moved.

But then-

“Luna, Luna, Luna, Luna, Luna.” Eva punctuated each mention of her name with a knock on the door. “Luna. Luna. Luna.”

Seren’s wings tightened around her.

“I have to go,” Luna whispered to him. “Just… stay here. Please.”

“She’ll know.”

“Let me speak to her first,” Luna said softly, fingertips still on his cheeks.

They both stared at each other for that one second, as if they could not believe how they’d ended up. Sliding out of his lap was a struggle, mostly because her body had locked itself up, wanting his closeness more than anything else, but also because Seren’s wings were stubborn, and he was just as reluctant to let her go as she was to leave him.

Luna made her way to the door, bracing herself, while Eva was still going:

“Luna.” Knock. “Luna.” Knock. “Luna, I need you to wake up.”

Before Eva could give her thousandth knock, Luna opened her door. She opened her mouth to begin a sort of improvised explanation, but Eva just said, “Eldon’s back.”

Luna straightened, suddenly seeing red. “You mean he _still_ hadn’t come back?” 

“Yeah,” Eva crossed her arms. “I already gave him a piece of my mind. But he’s… well, you should see him, really, he has some explaining to do. We’re gathering in the parlour.”

“But my father and the rest will be asleep.”

Eva cringed slightly. “Maybe it’s better off this way. Come on, I will help you dress.”

Her cousin waltzed graciously into the room before Luna could mutter a word. “Eva-“

And then she stopped.

Assessing.

Luna closed her eyes. Even Eva’s shifting abilities provided her with a fairly good set of senses, and while Luna had planned to lead Eva far from her chambers, it seemed that she’d waited too long to do so. And now Eva slowly turned to her, and as Luna opened her eyes to face her cousin, she knew, by the expression on Eva’s face. She knew.

_Fuck_.

“Does Fenrys have a new cologne?” She frowned. “Smells horrid. Like…limes.”

“I’m not sure,” Luna said slowly, trying very hard not to look at her bathing chamber’s door behind Eva. “What were you saying about Eldon? Maybe you should go ahead, I’ll dress myself and be with you as quickly as I can.”

Eva paused. “Turn around.”

Luna’s mouth twisted into what she hoped was a smile. “What.”

Eva’s eyes narrowed. “Turn around.”

When Luna didn’t move, Eva approached her slowly, like a hawk might approach a dead mouse. There was no other way – if she moved, it would be suspicious. Either way, Luna was being found out.

“Fuck,” Eva said, even as Luna pulled her robe tighter around her. It was clearly evident that there were bandages peeking through. “What did you do?”

“Fell to the ground.”

“Explain, please.”

“I don’t have to explain anything, Eva,” Luna said, a little spike to her voice that hadn’t been there before. “I’m not a child, I don’t need tending to.”

Eva looked mildly concerned, like someone looking at a strange-looking animal. “You just told me you fell to the ground and your shoulder blades are bloody. Should I not be concerned?”

Luna’s eyes drifted to her bathing chambers. _Please don’t move. Please don’t disturb the air so she doesn’t smell you._

“No, you shouldn’t, if I tell you I am perfectly fine,” Luna said, crossing her arms. “Now, Eldon.”

Eva shook her head, and sighed heavily. “Okay, I’m not letting this go,” she gestured towards Luna vaguely. “But for the time being… fine. Alright. Let’s get you dressed, and…”

“I’ll dress on my own,” Luna said softly. “Seriously. Go ahead.”

Eva looked unsure, concerned, and slightly weirded out. But, at last, to Luna’s absolute relief, she nodded and said her goodbyes briefly before exiting Luna’s chambers.

Luna hesitated.

Just for a little bit.

And then she practically ran to her bath chambers, pulled the door opened and-

The size of him always took her aback. Looking at him now, through new eyes, with a new rhythm to her heart, Luna thought she might just crumble in front of him – in the best way someone can crumble, that is.

Seren’s eyes devoured her.

Luna stared at his face, so entranced that she barely noticed that he approached her in slow, careful steps. Reigning himself in. The memory of her lips touching the gentle curve of his mouth shined in her mind like a newborn star, and she knew she was not going to be rid of it for long.

Seren leaned in, his hand on hers, his eyes fluttering shut as he touched his brow to hers. Luna looked on. He might have begun to murmur something to her, but then Eva barged through the door again, “A guard said a tree…” She trailed off.

Luna didn’t tear herself away from Seren.

Probably the shock.

They both looked to Eva, as Eva looked at Seren. Luna couldn’t read her cousin’s expression.

“You’re him,” Eva said.

Luna heard Seren swallow. She saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his body tensed. _Oh, Goddess_.

Luna said as calmly as she could, “Shut the door, Eva.”

Eva did so, mechanically, not tearing her eyes away from Seren – or the small distance between him and Luna. “I have questions,” Eva said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She looked over at Seren’s wings, and her face twisted into something nasty – Luan realized it was protectiveness.

Seren drifted ever so close to Luna, and said with a quiet Luna had never heard before in his tone, “I’m not here to hurt her.”

Eva’s hands closed into fists. “Why does he speak like he has lemons in his mouth?”

“If you’re asking a question about myself,” Seren snarled softly, “then address me as such.”

Luna widened her eyes slightly.

“I don’t care to address you, boy,” Eva spat. “You’re in _my_ lands. With your paws on my cousin.”

“Do you see her running from me?” Seren said, taking a dangerous step toward Eva.

Eva, ever courageous and too reckless for her own good, laughed and stepped toward him, too. “You’ll be running from me if you don’t explain what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“Hey,” Luna said softly, touching Seren’s arm – though she was addressing Eva.

“Luna brought me here.”

“Is that right?” Eva cocked her head to the side. “What’s that protectiveness around her about? Who are you to her?”

Seren’s body jerked back, as if – as if he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes widened, staring at Eva. Her cousin only cocked her head to the side.

“Eva,” Luna said at last, stepping between the two. “He’s no danger. And it’s true – I did bring him here. Without meaning to. I need to rest before I can bring him back to his world. He’s my friend, and my guest, and you’ll treat him as such. Please.”

Eva’s eyes tore away from Seren to linger over Luna’s face. “Explain the scars. Now.”

Luna’s jaw tensed. “He fell from the sky. I caught him. We fell.”

Eva did not seem to like that one bit. “You’re putting yourself in danger for him?”

“He could’ve died.”

Eva laughed out loud without humour. “What are the wings for then? To compete with peacocks?”

Seren smiled, and not in a very pleasant way. “You don’t want to find out.”

“Don’t provoke me, boy,” Eva said, eyes flashing yellow. “I have claws of my own.”

“Both of you!” Luna shouted. “ENOUGH.”

Eva straightened. She’d never heard Luna shout – Luna realized. Nobody ever had, probably.

She composed herself then, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not been a great week, so if you both could put away your territorial _bullshit_ , we can get moving with this conversation. Right? Right. So,” she stared at Eva pointedly, “it’s no fault of his that he’s stuck here, in a world he doesn’t know, Eva. It’s mine. And stop calling him _boy_ , please, it’s disconcerting. I’m fine, also, as you can clearly see.”

Eva’s eyes raked over Seren, but she didn’t answer.

“Now,” Luna said. “Can we go see Eldon?”

“Fine,” Eva said. “I suppose he’s a secret I’m supposed to keep?”

“You know how the others will act,” Luna said. “They’ll be worse than you.”

Eva didn’t seem to take that as an offense. Instead, she grinned up at Seren, still not entirely warming up to him, but… well, it was a start, at least. “Count your little lucky stars that I’m not a Lochan. Your pretty face and your fragile little ego might have suffered otherwise.”

Seren scoffed, obviously amused.

Eva looked between them, and something crossed her eyes. Her face softened, her body relaxed. “Did he hit a tree?”

“That was me,” Luna sighed. “I’ll explain later.”

They stared at each other, until Eva blinked. “Right, I’ll give you too some privacy. We’ll be in the parlour, Luna.”

Luna watched her cousin go, sighing softly to herself. When she turned to look at Seren, he was grinning like a mad person.

He said, “I like her.”

Luna quirked her brows. “You know what? I think she might actually like you, too. You both have strange ways to show it, though.”

Seren’s smile turned cotton-soft, and Luna almost forgot about everything then and there. But…

“Go,” Seren said softly. 

They’d drifted close again.

“I can try to take you back. Let me at least-”

Seren shook his head then, gently brushing his fingers with hers. “I’ll be fine, waiting here for you. Go do what you have to do.”

Luna hesitated.

“I’ll be here,” he murmured, and Luna believed him, more than she had ever believed in anything.

***

The water was cold enough to kill her.

Even in that state of panic, trying to climb back to the surface of the water, María knew two things: one, she was not being pulled by the current; two, she was not imagining the claw-like grip on her ankle, tearing off her homemade bracelet.

A dizzying thought took over, as strength began to leave her. She remembered all those stories of people who just went missing, out of the blue, without no rhyme or reason, without ever being found. She was going to be one of those people. 

No.

She kicked – hard. As hard as she could underwater.

Her lungs burned, but María felt that grip release her at her next kick – she’d hit something. She did not care to know what. María swam, and when she broke that surface, and took that first breath, the world was rimmed with black dots. Shore. She had to get to shore.

She turned, panicked, and saw shore – so far away.

No, it couldn’t be. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been pulled into the water. But it wasn’t a figment of her imagination – the waters felt endlessly deep, dark and angry. Waves threatened to pull her under.

Her best chance would be to swim to the nearest rocks and signal to someone. She’d tire herself out if she swam to shore. María kicked hard, swimming as fast as her aching lungs allowed her. _Please please please let me make it to the rocks._

She could see them – tall and slippery, but she’d have to make it. She could take shelter in those caves along the rocky shore, wait for help there, and then-“

As she swam, María’s head stood on edge, and it wasn’t from the cold. She felt that presence behind her. She didn’t look. It’s not real, _it’s not real, it’s not real, just swim, just get to safety, just live, breathe, María, keep breathing_.

A _boom_ sounded, like an explosion somewhere far away, or like summer thunderstorms. Swim. _Swim_. _I’m so tired._ She could feel it approaching. María was fast, but it was faster. It was going to sink its claws into her and drown her.

Before she could detect it, hands grasped at her arms. María thought of being pulled under, to that endless deep, dark and unforgiving and cold, but then-

She was being pulled _up_.

Up – into the _skies_.

María opened her eyes to see clouds hovering above her, a sun setting in the distance, and the sea – miles below her, cold wind slapping at her face. She was in someone’s arms.

***

Her shriek almost made him drop her.

Aidan held on to her frame hard, keeping her still, as he flew them over the ocean, into the rocky overhangs in the distance, his body shaking uncontrollably, just as much, if not more than hers.

He’d felt, more than saw, that something was wrong. It had made him turn to that beach, and while he thought he might see her walking back to the streets, she had been nowhere to be seen. And then – the far-off splash in the ocean, far enough where no human should be.

Aidan’s heart had been dead in his chest.

He’d reacted without thinking.

He was still reacting without thinking. Despite her screams, he remained soaring into the air, flying against the wind. There was blood in her ankle. He smelled it. 

Aidan’s teeth gritted so hard he thought he might break them. 

_Mermaids_.

Aidan looked down, seeking the waters – and saw a figure moving indistinctly down below. Not a shark, not a fish, but-

Something else entirely.

At a certain point, it stopped following them. Aidan was too high up for it to properly see them, and mermaids weren’t known for their eyesight.

The creature had almost killed his mate.

Even now, María only interrupted her screaming by spewing out salt water.

 _Glamour, Aidan,_ he thought, but he was too shaken to speak, to concentrate on glamouring his voice, his words, for her to understand, and for him to understand her.

Shock made her stay very still in his arms all of a sudden, especially as she realized that it was either flying or being dropped again, as they soared through the dusk-covered skies. Aidan began his descent when he spied a particular safe-looking sandy alcove, but before he could even set his feet on the ground, she was pushing at his chest – with impressive strength – and slapping his arms away from her.

Aidan unwrapped his arms from her, and moved back his wings, though he took a step forward to try and balance her, scared that she might fall over on the sand and hit her body on a sharp rock. But María cried out and stepped back further from him, her back hitting the mountain-like rock.

They stared at each other – him, folding his wings behind his back, and her, watching him, watching that movement with wide eyes, panting uncontrollably. Aidan focused on that glamour, let it gleam over them both. But María didn’t speak. She sunk into the ground in her wet clothes, wrapping her arms around her legs, making herself smaller. She was crying.

His instinct was to wrap himself around her, to pull her close and tell her that he’d never let anything touch her – but she was afraid of him, too. Aidan glamoured his wings away, and she watched that, too, with wide, incomprehensive eyes.

Betrayal flashed over her face.

It was bitter and frightening, and it made Aidan’s heart ache to see her eyes gleam in such a way – specially at him.

“Please,” he whispered, kneeling. “I will not hurt you. You know I won’t.”

María pulled her legs closer to her chest. “Don’t come any closer.” Her tone was both frightful and raging.

“I shouldn’t have let you alone on that beach,” Aidan continued. “But I didn’t scent any danger, I couldn’t-“

María let out a sob, and shook her head to herself. “It’s not real,” she whispered.

“I know you’ve never seen something like me,” Aidan said, lowering his voice.

“What are you?” She sobbed.

Aidan closed his eyes. “Fae. We call ourselves the Fae.”

“No,” she said. “This is a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Aidan said. “What attacked you, that was… I don’t know what term you might recognize them for. Or perhaps you don’t recognize them at all. They’re ancient creatures. They must have slipped from my world to yours, long ago.”

With each of his words, María only looked more shocked. “I’m going to get out of here.” She stood, rather shakily, and with strange balance, her eyes moving side to side, trying to find means of escaping. But they were on a distant patch of sand, surrounded by mountainous rocks.

“If you step into the water, I can’t protect you without pulling you out,” Aidan said, rising too, watching her. “This is the only place I could have brought you that is safe, without me being seen. Please, María, stop. Listen to me, I am begging you. Wait a few minutes, please. Until it gets dark, and then I can take you to shore under the cover of darkness.”

María stopped in her tracks, fists clenched on either side of her. Her hair had begun to curl at the ends, like his did. She looked at him as if she were sure there was no one there, and she might be listening to a ghost speaking. At last, she said, “I’m concussed. I almost passed out. I’m imagining things. Clearly. Of course.”

Aidan sighed heavily. Humans – they spent their lives telling fairytale stories to one another, and still refused to acknowledge the truth right in front of them.

“I’m a girl of reason,” she said, almost speaking to herself. “I believe in a lot, and I tolerate a whole lot more. But this,” she said, her tone shrill, drawing a line between them, gesturing to him. “This is where I draw the line.” 

“I’m not so different,” Aidan whispered.

María stared at him. “You had wings.” She said this slowly, not believe it herself. “Where are they?”

“I hid them, glamoured them away, so I don’t frighten you further.”

She blinked. She didn’t move, only stared at him with a mixture of fear and anger. Like he was a wolf who’d ruined her favourite pair of shoes.

“Fae,” she tasted the word in her mouth. “No.”

“Yes,” Aidan said reluctantly.

María took a shaky intake of breath. “Minutes ago, I was about to be some mythical sea creature’s _meal_ ,” she said, a bit of a snarl in her voice. “And then you show up with your bat wings?” She looked to the skies. “Jesus Christ. What I am supposed to do with this?” She closed her eyes. “What in the hell-”

“I can explain,” he whispered. “I can tell you everything. I just need you to trust me.”

María stared at him then. Her eyes scrutinized every inch of him, and he knew, just as he knew the sun would rise every morning, that she would never look at him the same way ever again.

“How did people not see you,” she demanded. “When you flew up to save me.”

“I ran to a corner of the beach where no eyes could detect me,” he explained. “And then when I’m up in the skies, I’m too fast for human eyes to pick up on me.” A pause. “And I don’t know what a bat is.”

María’s nostrils flared slightly as she stared at his shoulders – as if she expected those wings to sprout out of the blue.

“You’re not ill,” he said softly. “This is real. I am real.”

He saw her hands tremble, and his gaze followed the way she clasped them together, her fingers knotting nervously. “You won’t kill me?” She whispered.

“Of course not.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

Aidan kneeled again. He kneeled and walked back to the little shore on that patch of sand, turning, sitting down. He could feel her eyes glaring at his back. “Is it easier if I’m not looking at you?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know why, but yes. I…”

“It’s a lot to process, I know.”

María was silent for a long time, and Aidan just peered over his shoulder to check if she was semi-alright. She was still staring at him.

“You said,” she began, “ _your_ world. Where’s your world?”

“Prythian,” he murmured. “I found a…” he didn’t know the term to use, a term that she’d understand. “A passage. I am a student, like you. I am close to finishing my studies, back in my world, I didn’t lie about it.”

“You said you lived up north,” María continued, her tone strained. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“My home is called the Night Court,” Aidan said. “It’s the nethermost territory.”

She considered this for a moment, knowing that he hadn’t outright lied to her, and just avoided truths. But that didn’t seem to sit well with her either, and Aidan didn’t think otherwise.

“Another world,” she whispered. “Are there many more like you here?”

“Not that I know of.”

“ _Could_ there be?”

“No. Possibly not. I’ve heard of few Fae that abandoned our world to live amongst you in secrecy, but that was centuries ago.”

“You said goodbye to me on that beach because-” she stopped. “Because of what you are.”

Aidan hesitated, then slowly turned, but remained sitting where he was. “Believe me, María, believe in my words. I never wished to hurt you. Finding you was a drop of luck, and I never meant to… drag this out.”

She sat back down, sheltering herself from the wind. Apparently, she no longer found him a direct danger, but she didn’t trust him. She made a point to show him that. “How do you speak my language?”

“I don’t.”

Her brows knitted together.

“I use… glamour,” he said. “The same magic that allows me to make my wings disappear.”

“You _charmed_ me,” she said.

“I can’t charm you,” he said. “I am not a sorcerer. But I can glamour your words the moment they leave your mouth, for only my ears. You’re still speaking your tongue, and I am still speaking mine. My glamour makes it so we both understand each other.”

What was supposed to give her some reassurance seemed to freak her out even more. María looked toward the ocean, unblinking, her eyes big. “What the fuck,” she said softly.

After a moment’s pause, she dragged out a long, heavy sigh. “Was the rest of it real?”

“Yes.”

“How real?”

“Everything was real, except everything I did not tell you. I couldn’t bring myself to, for I knew you’d leave. But I also knew that it was wrong of me to lead you on, and lead myself on, when you didn’t know my whole truth.”

María kept staring into the distance, her gaze steel, her voice matching. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

Which answered more than one question, he realized, as she looked at him with narrowed eyes. The Fae counted years as the humans did.

“Do you want to listen to my story?” He asked softly. “Or we can simply watch the sun disappear. Your choice.”

María closed her eyes and shook her head, seemingly between an internal dilemma. When he thought she’d send him to all seven hells, María simply said, without looking at him. “Tell me everything I need to know.”

***

It was the third time he woke.

Oren coughed into the stone ground, his cheek cold and numb. His mind was instantly awake, as it had been for the last time. His hands were blood-stained, rashes covered his skin. He could barely move.

The last two times, he’d almost tore that cage they’d put him in down – if it hadn’t been for the poison coating the metal, he’d have snapped it and some necks in his rage to get out of there.

He was weak.

There was blood on the stones after he’d coughed.

Oren pushed himself, and groaned as he slumped on his back, staring at the mossy ceiling. They were underground.

He could smell her.

“Atarah,” he whispered.

I’m so sorry.

“Welcome back.”

A new face greeted him this time.

Oren looked over, fighting against the soreness of his neck, and watched as a handsome male sat on a nearby plush chair, a book in his lap, and a pretty feathered pen in one hand. He looked bored.

“Who are you,” Oren demanded.

His voice was nothing but a low croak.

“The man that ordered your imprisonment, boy,” said the male. “I can tell you my name if you’d like. It makes no difference whether you know it or not.” He laughed then, that sound leaning towards insanity. “It matters not who knows it.”

Oren read between the lines: it didn’t matter, because they would not be found.

Oren’s mouth was dry, but the male beat him to the speech. “I’ll spare you the energy of asking it. My name is Viktor Vanserra,” he said proudly. “And you, my boy, are here because one of my spies heard you were about to dip your toe into some dangerous territory – meaning, you were about to warn our dearest Queen Aelin about some of my men back in Doranelle.”

_Spies_.

Oren closed his eyes, and tried to sit up, forcing his muscles to oblige. When he slumped against the wall, he glared at the male. “You attacked Ragnar Lochan.”

Vanserra smiled. “I did. Unfortunate thing, that. I was supposed to kill him, and snatch his precious little shifter. But the girl slipped from my fingers before I could get a good grip on her. Sneaky little things, shifters.” Vanserra hummed a laugh, and closed his book with a sharp thump. “Have you ever met one, Oren?”

Oren remained silent, watching him.

“No, I guess you have not,” Vanserra said. “After all, they’re a little difficult to come by, these shifters. Rare and precious. Oh, yes, all too precious. Did you know how many years it took me to find one, Oren? Oh, you couldn’t imagine. It seems our Queen has kept that little jewel fiercely hidden, as she should. Her mother, Lady Lysandra is her name, is a close friend, and of course tales of her stretch far beyond this little pond. I know I couldn’t touch Lysandra.” Vanserra twirled the pen in his fingers. “But I can touch her daughter.”

Oren smiled with the little energy he had left. “Why would you want a shifter?”

Vanserra grinned. “That is the limit to what I can tell you, boy. And you will have no need to know. Once I can erase your memory, you can go on your merry way.”

Oren started at this. He tried to look unfazed, but his heartbeat picked up.

“Worry not, my boy, you’ll be good to go soon enough,” Vanserra said cheerfully, crossing one leg over the other.

“Where is Atarah?” Oren snarled.

Vanserra’s grin didn’t vanish. “Thought you’d never ask. Your mate is doing perfectly alright upstairs. Quite the mouth on her. Females always have such mouths on them, don’t you agree? It’s like it runs in their blood. Someone ought to teach that girl to shut up.”

Oren’s blood boiled, and a growl built on his chest, but then-

“ _What did you say.”_

“Oh!” Vanserra clapped animatedly. “You didn’t know!”

Cue in the most horrid laughter Oren had ever heard. Vanserra clutched his stomach and leaned forward, the sound startling enough that Oren straightened as much as he could. Vanserra leaned back when it was over, like a switch had been turned off, and grinned wolfishly at him. “My dear boy, you poor, poor soul. Don’t you recognize your own mate?”

“You’re lying.”

“You’re blind,” Vanserra cooed. “I see the ties that bind you. Just like I saw the ties that bound Eva Ashryver and Ragnar Lochan. The same ties bind Queen Aelin and Prince Rowan. So many others.”

“You can _see_ mating bonds? That’s your ability?” Oren snarled.

“An entertaining party trick, indeed, albeit slightly…” Vanserra gestured into the air, looking for the right word, “…useless. Great for starting some drama, though.” Vanserra lifted his pen as if it were a cup and he was making a toast.

 _Mate_.

His mate.

 _Calm yourself_ , his father would say, be rational. _If it is true, it doesn’t mean you have to lose control and endanger her life and yours._

_Think, Oren. Think._

“What do you plan to do with her?”

“Get a little information out of her won’t hurt,” Vanserra shrugged. “For _me_ at least, it’ll of course hurt for her if she can’t keep her puppy snarl to herself. She’s only here because she decided to get her hand in the wrong cookie jar, my boy, worry not. If she is a smart lady, she will walk out of here with her life.”

Oren opened his mouth to speak, but then came the guard that he was already familiar with. Another snarl caught on his throat, and Hylas simply looked at him sideways, and whispered something into Vanserra’s ear.

Oren heard the words clearly enough _, Ragana is dead._

Vanserra sloped down on his chair and sighed. “Tragic.”

Hylas awaited orders.

Viktor said, “Well, guess we saw it coming. Do you see, Hylas? That is what happens when drift away from a goal. You become distracted, and distracted gets you killed.”

Hylas didn’t seem the least bit fazed by this. He nodded along, and simply said, “Hum.”

“What killed her?”

Hylas cringed, as if that was the question he was hoping to avoid.

“Eldon Lochan.”

 _Snap_.

Vanserra’s pen broke in half in his hand.

He looked up, lip trembling in rage. “Seriously?”

Hylas went silent.

Vanserra breathed in, as if calming himself down. “Alright then,” he said at last, putting a smile on his face. “Go get ready, Hylas. Tomorrow at first light, we snatch our shifter.” Vanserra’s eyes gleamed. “Our precious little jewel.”


	14. Chapter 14

“So,” Eldon whispered, lowering his head, as if it was the heaviest thing he had ever carried. “I killed her.”

The silence around the room stretched for miles on end.

Luna wrapped herself in her robe, her new, fresh nightgown underneath hiding the trembling of her feet. Everyone acted differently as Eldon was telling his story, of what had happened to him in the Staghorn Mountains, of what he’d discovered, of the Fae female that tried to kill him – Eva and Ragnar had been staring off into space, rage in both their eyes; Amara and Andrea often gazed at each other, and more than one occasion, Luna watched as Amara held Andrea’s hand in hers in quiet reassurance; Howlan and Aran sat side by side, eyes never leaving Eldon.

“You did what you had to do.” It was Howlan, Eldon’s twin, who spoke at last. He reached out, and touched his brother’s hand, squeezing once. “You did what you had to do,” he repeated.

“Mother and father should know,” Ragnar muttered. “We should tell them all.”

“No,” Eva said, determined. She ran her fingers through her dark locks, and shook her head, speaking to no one in particular. “I think this should stay between us for now. Let us think of a plan to move forward. Our parents have enough on their plate looking for Atarah and Oren, looking for Vanserra, too.”

“But if it’s true that Oren and Atarah were captured by Vanserra, and if what Eldon was saying aligns with this… Ragana could have been working with him. It makes sense,” Ragnar argued. “Besides, we can’t fight this on our own.”

Perhaps, if it had been before, Eva would have argued back. But Luna noticed something flash in the shifter’s eyes as she stared up at Ragnar. They all saw it, of course. Luna knew something had changed between them, but no one dared to ask, nor remark on it. Eva simply sighed, and turned her eyes away.

“I have to tell them,” Eldon whispered to the ground.

“You won’t tell them on your own,” Andrea said softly from Amara’s side. “They will understand, brother, they have to. You only went to find out more about the Night Court, to aid Luna, to aid all of us. You couldn’t have known what would happen that night – that Atarah and Oren would be captured.”

“I’m sorry,” Eldon said for the second time, breathing in shakily. “I’m sorry that I worried all of you.”

Luna said, “You’re home now, that’s what matters.”

None of them had picked up Seren’s scent over her own – it was unfamiliar to them, and Luna had hidden it well. Still. As the conversation went on, as the supposed portal materialized in her mind, Luna’s heart began beating out of rhythm, nervousness pooling at the bottom of her stomach.

If this was true, if there really was a portal leading to Prythian in the Staghorn Mountains that had been long forgotten by generations, then it meant that Seren had been right all along: they were closer than they knew, and there was a large chance that their separate worlds could have once been one.

But this led to an important question: why were they separated in the first place, and why couldn’t they find any clear evidence as to _why_?

Luna imagined a wall of adamant between their worlds, separating similar races of Fae, built by the hands of divinities. If the Gods had decided it best for their worlds to become separate… then it couldn’t have been a caprice.

“We also know that Oren brought a message for Aelin,” Luna said softly, after no one else dared to speak. “He could’ve been warning us about the attacks.”

“Yes,” Ragnar said. “No one would come all this way from Doranelle for just a regular audience.” A pause, as the male looked down at the ground. “I leave with the guards to look for Atarah in the morning, too. Any of you who wish to join, feel free to come.”

“I’ll go,” Eva said softly, looking up at him.

Ragnar’s jaw twisted slightly as he met her eyes, but he said nothing at all to stop her. The intensity between them could send sparks shooting through the room, and inflame an entire palace.

“So will I,” Luna said. “My father will join us as well.”

“Brother,” Andrea said. “I wish to go, too.”

Ragnar turned to his little sister. “Mother and father will not be alright with you joining us. You haven’t finished your training.”

“I’ll convince them,” Andrea said seriously. “Do you have my back?”

Ragnar breathed in, seemingly in the middle of a dilemma. But when he looked into his sister’s eyes, he saw the plea there. So he just said, “Always, Andy.”

“Of course I’ll go, as well,” Aran said from besides Howlan, inching closer to the edge of the couch.

Eva’s eyes snapped to him, quick as a bird of prey. “Like hell.”

Aran shot his twin sister an angry, moody look. “I am your twin, not your little brother. I can handle myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Eva said. “But I don’t-”

“I know I’m not a talented shifter like you, Evie,” Aran said calmly. “But I _am_ of use. I could never change into an animal for attack, or summon claws, nor wings. But I do have my senses, still.”

Eva lowered her eyes. “I’m not calling you useless.”

Aran touched her hand. “The people who hurt you, who tried to hurt Ragnar, will not see another sunrise if it is up to me. Only I can make this choice. Please do not be angry with me for going against you.”

Eva looked ready to burst into tears, but she blinked them back, and simply nodded.

“Aelin has already said this,” Aran said to the room, without letting go of his sister’s hand. “We need spies of our own, not just guards. If it was a guard that captured Atarah and Oren like Rowan suspects, then we’ll have to keep an eye on the people inside this castle.” Aran looked at Eva. “I know just the person to summon.”

Eva raised her brows in question, but Aran said, “Leave it to me.”

Ragnar gently said, “Go to sleep, all of you. I’ll notify Andrik and Ferran of the news, and… we’ll speak to our parents in the morning. You should all rest. Eldon, we need to treat your nose.”

“I think it’s fine,” Eldon said. “The crookedness gives my face a little personality, a little edge.”

Only Howlan smiled.

Eldon sighed. “It’s either joking or bursting into tears, guys. Come on.”

Ragnar patted his brother on the back. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week. I thought we’d lost you, too.”

Eldon nodded grimly, then rose. Everybody followed suit.

“Come on,” Amara said, holding Eldon’s arm. “I’ll get you healed.” Andrea followed the two, holding on to her big brother’s hand, all the way to the infirmary.

Aran said his goodbyes, and so did Howlan, and Luna made her way out too.

She had a situation of her own to deal with.

***

Ragnar stayed behind with Eva, a hand to his cheek supporting his head, as if he’d slump to the side and sleep for an eternity.

As they were left alone, Eva gently touched his forehead.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’m surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight back there,” Ragnar muttered, looking over at the window in front of him, moonlight casting patterns on the carpet. “It’s unlike you.”

Eva moved. She sloped on the couch next to him, and leaned in close. She rested her forehead against his shoulder, and Ragnar clung to her warmth, wrapping an arm around her, as if they’d always done this, as if these small, tender gestures came as naturally to them as breathing, or as arguing with each other.

She breathed him in, and Ragnar closed his eyes.

The world could end.

But if he still had his family, and _this_ -

Then Ragnar couldn’t care less about the world. These people were all that mattered. She was all that mattered.

After a pause, Eva said against his shoulder, holding on to the side of his body, “I’ll have all the time in the world to argue with you after this is over.”

“You will.”

“I want it to be over,” Eva whispered. It wasn’t often that he saw her frightened, and it didn’t sit well with him. Ragnar pulled her closer, ignoring the pain in his arm, in his chest.

“Ashryver,” Ragnar said against her cheek, “it’ll all be over soon. And when it’s done… you and I will have our conversation.”

Eva looked up at him, as if she’d ask him-

But then she just touched his cheek, the rough line of his jaw. He hadn’t shaven for a few days now, but Ashryver didn’t seem to mind as she leaned in and gave him the sweetest kiss he could ever ask for. Chaste and short, but it made his heart ache and twist and beg for more.

“I have so many words for you,” Eva said softly, against his mouth.

Ragnar touched his brow to hers. “Soon.”

“Yes,” Eva said, kissing him again, so briefly, before resting her head back on his chest, holding on to him as if she planned never to let go. “Soon.”

***

Oren stared at the wall in front of him, lined with stripes of black metal. His eyes unfocused, and he couldn’t focus them again, try as he might. He took in a shallow breath, and rested his head against the wall, turning his dizzy vision to the ceiling.

Dust and stones and rocks and lines of wood greeted him. Oren imagined that wood giving in, and all the dirt and crumbling down on top of him, burying him further into the earth. This underground reminded him of the mines he used to visit with his father. His father – his family, who didn’t know where he was, who would now be worried sick after he hadn’t written to them telling them of his safe arrival in Orynth.

He tried to place the pieces of loose conversation he’d had with Vanserra and Hylas during the time he’d been here, but Oren couldn’t begin to find the loose end of his thoughts. Pulling those strings would be hard if he couldn’t find a beginning.

How many hours had he been trapped here? How many days?

They wanted to erase his memory – but they hadn’t still. Which could mean that Vanserra still did not have a way to. His abilities allowed him to supposedly see bond ties between people, but perhaps they ended there. Oren had stared at the examination table on the opposite corner of the room. Would they lie him down there and open him up?

He wanted to see the sky - he craved it badly.

He craved his wings.

That poison didn’t allow him to shift. He was trapped. Wings cut so he wouldn’t fly away.

And – his _mate_.

His mate upstairs. He could smell the sweetness of her. He could still remember her voice, that snarl as she’d faced that selkie, protecting him even if it cost her life. She was here because of him. She would most likely not leave because of him.

Oren slumped into the ground, unable to hold himself up. 

Even if his mind shouted at him to move, to breathe, to live, his body just didn’t have the strength for it.

Another bird caged.

***

“You’ve lost someone, haven’t you?”

Hylas sighed in boredom from the staircase. From the cell, Atarah could only see his shoulder blades hunching.

“Did he take that person away from you?” Atarah continued. “Is that why you answer to him? You’re afraid for your life?”

“I discourage you to try and find anything in me worthy of sympathy, my Lady,” Hylas muttered from his corner. “You’ll find yourself disappointed.”

“The way you looked at me when we first spoke,” Atarah said, relentless, despite her tiredness. She had not slept. “Did they look like me? Were they from Suria? Is that why you have not hurt me?”

Hylas looked to the ceiling as if he wished to curse the Gods for his luck. “If I tell you, will you shut up?”

“I will not promise such a thing,” Atarah said, crossing her arms firmly. “I have nothing else to do. So I _will_ talk as I please. If you wish for me to stop, come here and try to shut me up, or else deal with it.”

Hylas threw an amused glance over his shoulder, but shook his head as if he’d call her _foolish_ again.

At last, he said, “No, he wasn’t from Suria.”

Atarah blinked, waiting for him to continue. The more Hylas trusted her, the easier it became to put her plan to action.

“He was from Perranth,” Hylas said.

“Your lover?”

Hylas grimaced. “It always is, isn’t it?”

Atarah paused. “How old was he?”

“Not old enough to be taken away.”

“Who was it?” Atarah asked softly. “Who did it?”

Hylas paused. “What does it matter now?” He stared in front of him at the blank, bleak wall, eyes following the streaks of humidity. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Whatever took him must have driven you to join Vanserra,” Atarah said. When Hylas turned to look at her, she shrugged. “I’m not an idiot. I can put two and two together.”

“Have you ever lost someone like that?” Hylas asked. “A friend? A lover? A family member?”

Atarah looked down at her socks. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Nothing will ever be the same,” Hylas said. “You become someone else. Something else.” A pause. “You tell yourself that you’ll avenge them, but then you become worse than the thing that killed them.”

As he spoke, Hylas wasn’t watching her.

“A shifter killed him,” Hylas said. “To this day, I don’t know why.”

Atarah’s throat closed up. “How come you don’t know?”

“Because I found the shifter and drowned her before she confessed.”

Atarah’s blood ran cold. She stayed silent. But Hylas had become interested in her silence, and turned around to face her, curiosity marrying his features. “No words for me now, my Lady? I bet you must think that, surely, she was provoked, or perhaps even attacked by my companion. But you didn’t know him. He wouldn’t have hurt the smallest animal in his path.”

“I’m sorry,” Atarah said, and meant it.

“Do you know why shifters are so rare, my Lady?” Hylas asked, but didn’t wait for her answer: “Because even passing their genetics down to their descendants is difficult. There’s something incredibly wrong in their system, my Lady. Something broken. Nature’s flaw.”

“I don’t understand,” Atarah said.

“I think you do,” Hylas said, approaching her in slow steps. “It’s why your Queen Aelin and her Lady Lysandra have tried to hide Eva Ashryver’s abilities all her life. The world is still not sure if her twin brother can shift, too. They’re kept a _secret_. Why? Because they know the people do not trust them. And the people have reasons not to, alright. For who could trust someone who could change so easily? Who could wear a thousand faces? Who could waltz into any room they wished to, without ever being found out? Who could commit terrible crimes and get away with it? My Lady, shifters are rare not only because of their difficulty passing their abilities down the family tree, but also because they were destroyed over the ages. I think you can guess why and how.”

Atarah’s gaze was steel as she looked over at him. “Whoever took your companion was ill-hearted. Mean-spirited. Cruel. Perhaps she deserved to be drowned. I don’t know what happened, I cannot say. But I know this: you putting the blame on other people for what one person did is not-”

“Do not speak of wrongs and rights, my Lady,” Hylas said. “They’ve become blurred for me over the ages. What happened to the one who owned my heart was a tragedy, but even if it hadn’t happened to him, it still could have happened to someone else, and it most likely would have.”

Atarah swallowed hard. “So that’s it? You want Eva? You want to kill her and every shifter you can find?”

Hylas smiled sadly. “Not quite. Though, yes, yes, the Princess _will_ die. Her mother will, too, in time. But this is much bigger than just the Princess, my Lady, as I am sure you know. You have grown up with half-breeds your whole life, surely you can identify the differences between them and yourself.”

Atarah blinked. “There are no differences.”

Hylas sighed softly, as if he expected this answer. “But there are, of course. You fail – no, you _refuse_ – to see them. But you _do_ know that half-breeds are not like us. They breed faster, their human side is often driving their Fae side, their emotions are uncontrollable, even volatile, and their organisms seem to evolve faster than ours. Fae should have never gotten involved with humans.” Hylas straightened. “They ought to be all killed.”

“You’re sick,” Atarah shook her head. “And you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong, I’m stating facts,” Hylas said. “You’re a smart girl, of course. And a full-blooded Fae. Does it not make you angry that your reproductive system might not allow you to conceive? Does it not make you see red that a half-breed might match you in strength, even if half of them is sullied with human blood? Is it not _unfair_?”

_Come closer, bastard._

_Come closer._

Atarah approached the bars, her nostrils flaring at the unpleasant smell of the poison. “What is unfair is your view on the world and on its people. Your loss turned you into a monster, and only heightened your terrible views, which are wrong and despicable on so many levels.” Atarah sneered. “Our Queen is demi-Fae, _the correct term is demi-Fae_ , you ignorant bastard, and she is the strongest, most just person you will ever meet.”

Hylas grinned. “She was also an assassin.”

“How dare you judge someone,” Atarah spat, “when you’ve got me in a _cell_?”

Hylas tutted. “It appears we will never see eye-to-eye, my Lady, which is a pity. Alas, I have some questions for you. I hope you might answer truthfully.”

Atarah watched as he grabbed a stool. He sat on it, in front of her, too far. Atarah swallowed hard, and didn’t respond.

Hylas began: “Is Aran Ashryver a shifter?”

_Lie_. “No.”

Hylas watched her carefully.

“If he is, then I would surely smell it, no?” Atarah said, cocking her head to the side.

“Right,” Hylas said, face unreadable. “The Lochan siblings. What abilities do you know of?”

Atarah blinked slowly, as if bored. “I don’t know them well enough. My parents never allowed me to play with the Lochan siblings.” Another lie, of course, but Atarah knew she had to play on that terrible side of Hylas, so she could be at least a little believable. “I was allowed to form a friendship with Luna Moonbeam, and the Crown Princess, as well as her sister. No one else.”

“Tell me about the Crown Princess.”

“Amara does not have any special abilities, besides her second form.” Lies. Lies. Lies. “Neither does her sister.”

While Hylas looked down, like he was deep in thought, Atarah said, “Most Fae have a second form, do you not consider that a close resemblance to shifters? How different is that?”

“Second forms are part of our nature.”

“Just as shifting is part of a shifter’s nature,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Hylas smiled, unfazed by her provocation. “Indeed – the only difference is, of course, that our second forms usually depict our spirit and abilities, but shifters can usually turn into anything and everything. They are outlaws of nature, my Lady. I shan’t compare them to Fae.”

Atarah made a disgusting sound, and turned her eyes away.

“Right, then,” Hylas said. “I shall feed you and get you some water, and return in a few hours for more questions.”

_Water._

_Yes._

Oren was sleeping. She knew this by the soft breathing she could hear through the stone, the gentle heartbeat. He was weak, but he was safe so far. And as long as they didn’t touch him, Atarah could keep up with her plan.

She watched Hylas slip two bowls underneath the cell bars. He wore gloves, but he still winced as they scraped against the metal.

Hylas left at last.

It was time.

Atarah hurried, ignoring the stale bread on the bowl and dipping the fabric she’d flung to the end of the cell into the water to dampen it. Thankfully, Hylas hadn’t asked, but his eyes had pointed at her bare legs for one single second, until he’d captured the fabric lying seemingly uselessly on the side, and chose to ignore it, probably considering she’d made herself more comfortable, and nothing more.

Thank the Goddess of that.

She made quick work of the fabric, wrapping it around her hands, over her rashes, as fast as her body allowed her too. Dip, squeeze, wrap, wrap, wrap, tighten, tighten, again. Dip, squeeze, wrap, wrap, wrap, quickly, _quickly, hear for footsteps, keep an ear close to Oren’s breathing to make sure he’s alright_ , tighten, tighten, repeat.

Her hands were covered with damp fabric. Her rashes were still blood-red and bound to leave scarring, but Atarah had no time to lose. This was the first part of her plan, and if it failed, at least she knew, and could finally move on to trying something else.

With her heart in her throat, Atarah breathed in, and touched the bars.

She squeezed.

Immediately, the metal made a noise like a cat being stepped on, and she could feel her strength twist the material like it was made of tough, dried clay. But then she could feel the heat of the poison shoot up her arm – the water only made it easier to touch, and it didn’t completely erase the effects of the verbena.

But the damage had already been done.

Atarah swallowed a sob and a cry, as she kept twisting, avoiding making noise as much as she could. She thought of Luna, of the danger her friends were in, she thought of Eldon’s smiling face, Amara’s inside jokes, Ragnar’s high-fives that she could never reach because he’d always been so abnormally tall; she thought of her loving parents, waiting for her at home, worried out of their minds; Atarah thought of Oren downstairs, his breathing getting more shallow as the seconds ticked by.

She closed her eyes, and focused on that strength, ignoring the pain, the smell of burnt fabric on her nostrils mixing with the poison. She couldn’t help but imagine the poison sweeping into the cracks of her skin, swimming in her blood, all the way towards her heart.

_Keep going._

_Keep going._

_I can do this._

“Oh, dear.”

Atarah stepped back immediately, both from shock to hear that voice, and from pain – in the back of her mind, she registered the thick, warm liquid drip-dripping down her fingertips – it was blood. Her blood. The shock she felt at looking up at his face made it so she didn’t feel that pain for a few seconds. The fabric in her hands was ripped to shreds, _burnt_. And so was her skin.

“What do we have here?”

Atarah knew, from Luna’s brief descriptions, that the face she looked upon now belonged to no other than Viktor Vanserra.

***

Seren was sitting by her window when Luna finally returned to her bedroom. He was staring at the moon.

“I’m afraid our skies are not as mesmerizing as the skies in Velaris,” Luna said softly when his head turned to her. She closed the door gently with her back, feeling a lump in her throat, those nervous bubbles making her stomach turn as she met his eyes.

She’d kissed him.

Not completely, but she’d been close enough to.

Seren smiled, and shook his head, “They’re beautiful all the same.”

Luna approached slowly, tentatively, and sat on the other side of the windowsill, facing him, facing the stars. Far away, wolves howled, greeting their mist-covered round moon.

“How did it go?”

Luna paused. “It’s worse than we thought. I don’t know what else to say,” she sighed heavily, running her fingers through her hair before putting it in a low knot. “Seren,” she said softly, “do you want to stay tonight?”

Her throat bobbed as she dared to look at him. Seren took in a sharp intake of breath, and then his eyes turned toward her bed. “You don’t mind I-”

“No,” Luna said. “It’s big enough for the both of us.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Luna said, “if you’re sure.”

Seren paused for one second, and then, so gently, with such tentativeness that it made Luna’s heart ache, he touched her hand, held it in his own, and softly said, “I’ll stay.”

“I’ll get you home in the morning. I promise you.”

“I need you to be safe first,” Seren said, looking at her pointedly. “I need to know you can do it, and that you won’t be hurt by your abilities.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luna smiled, swinging their hands.

She imagined this, for one second – having always known Seren, the way her heart felt like it knew him, sitting by her window every night, talking about their day while they held hands, trading kisses in the darkness like that was all they had ever known.

There was a part of her – a part of her that hurt that she was thinking of Seren, when she was supposed to be thinking of Leander. It hurt more, Luna thought, that she felt her heart bubbling, that she felt it heal, at last, when her dearest friend could already be lost to her.

Her blood ran cold.

Seren, noticing the way she changed, did not hesitate. He pulled her closer, into his chest, and held her, as the tears came.

“She will be found,” Seren promised her, soothing. “You will find her, Luna, and she will come back home to you.”

Luna closed her eyes, her cheek pressed against his chest. She was ruining his fancy tunic, but Seren didn’t seem to care as he held her tighter, stopping her from shattering into pieces again.

“It’s all my fault,” she whispered. “I should’ve never told her.”

“You can’t choose people’s lives for them,” Seren said gently, hand splayed on her back. “Look at me?”

She did, raising her heavy head as much as she could.

She found him smiling down at her.

Seren pulled a piece of her hair behind her ear, his hand touching her cheek, lingering there. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

“A crying mess.”

“No.”

“A child in need of coddling.”

Seren’s brow furrowed. “I wonder whether you have the right perspective of yourself, considering all you have done today, considering what you must have done all your life, and still – thinking that _you’re_ the one that needs protecting.” He shook his head. “I look at you and see strength. Incomparable strength.”

Luna wiped her nose on her sleeve, and lowered her eyes, following the patters of his tunic, the gold details. She said, “You’re here because of me.”

“Yes, because you saved my life.”

“Your life was endangered by _me_ in the first place, Seren.”

“I don’t like how our first argument is going,” Seren frowned, sniffing.

Luna couldn’t help but let out a quiet, sad smile. “You know I’m right.”

“I wouldn’t like to make a habit out of this – but I disagree with you on that.”

Luna paused, sniffing, then looked up at him. “ _First_ argument? You’re expecting to argue a lot with me?”

At her attempt at humour, Seren’s eyes lit up. His hand on her cheek moved behind her ear, his thumb caressing her skin. “If you keep that logic up, sweetheart, I’m afraid I will have to go against you.”

Luna shook her head slowly, but before she could speak, Seren said, “It’s not your fault, Luna.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He lifted her chin, stared at her red-rimmed eyes. “Shall we sleep now?”

“I should,” Luna murmured, thinking of tomorrow.

She wondered at him, as Seren entangled himself from her. Anyone else who saw her like this… well, she would be afraid they’d think her less capable. She certainly felt like it, as she wiped at her eyes. But Seren didn’t make her feel inadequate for crying, for having a weak moment.

“You know, my father taught me that crying can be a relief,” Seren said softly, turning to her, handing out his hand. He said this, as if he’d read her mind, but Luna said nothing as he continued, “It’s not weakness, whether you might think so or not. It’s strength.” And with that, he placed one hand on either of her cheeks, and his thumbs wiped the remainder of her tears. “I can stay longer. I can help.”

Luna shook her head, touching his wrists. He didn’t move his hands. “No, I cannot keep you from your duties. And it could complicate things.”

“I know,” Seren said. “But still. I wish I could stay.”

Luna nodded, and Seren gently pulled back his hands, watching her. Under his gaze, she turned her eyes away, towards the bed. “I… perhaps I can steal one of my father’s shirts, if it’s more comfortable for you. Or you can remove your tunic, and… keep your trousers. Or…” Luna closed her eyes. She knew she was blushing, and she’d just started to see a slow smile spread on Seren’s lips at her babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “Whatever you prefer, actually,” Luna muttered, touching the back of her head. “I’m not one to be easily shocked. But hum… yes.”

“I’ll leave my trousers on,” Seren decided. “If my bare chest doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you can skip the trouble of stealing from your poor father.”

Luna gave out a sudden, high-pitch laugh, but then cleared her throat. “I’ll just…” she pointed to the bathing chamber, not finding her words. Seren only nodded, and Luna scurried away, feeling her cheeks heat, his amusement following her all the way there.

***

María shivered in the cold.

As he spoke, she tried to make sense of the strange descriptions, the strange names, the _strangeness_ of it all. She was certain she’d been imagining everything. Perhaps she was currently sleeping at the bottom of the ocean.

Her eyes unfocused as he kept speaking.

It couldn’t be real.

It just _couldn’t_.

Things like this – like _him_ – didn’t exist. He was a product of a story, and nothing else. Had she been insane all her life? Had she been imagining him all along?

But as the cold kissed her cheeks, and the sound of his voice mixed with the sea crash into the rocks, the tide slowly backing up, and revealing a bigger patch of sand, she quickly came into her senses, like a sudden, cold slap in the face. _It is very much real._

She had a crush on a faerie guy with wings.

María let her head fall between her knees.

A fluttering sound, like a butterfly’s heartbeat, _wooshed_ past her ears, and she looked up – to see Aidan there, in front of her, worry in his features. It’s like he’d instinctively moved. What would take a human quite a few seconds to reach her, had taken him less than a second.

María backed into the wall, as gasp falling from her mouth. “What the-”

Aidan seemed to remember himself, and quickly backed away, too. “I’m sorry,” he said, flinching. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think.”

She wished she wasn’t afraid of him.

But her body reacted on instinct. You wouldn’t stay numb while a wild tiger approached you, would you?

She swallowed, staring at him. Night was almost here. The evening spread into what it seemed like eternity, and the cold covered her bones. Aidan’s eyes moved over her arms, her trembling legs, her still wet-clothes. His eyes on her body made her hair stand on edge, even if there was nothing threatening in his eyes.

He slowly removed the strange jacket he was wearing and offered it to her.

María watched him. He only said, “I don’t feel the cold like you do.”

It was either shattering her pride or pneumonia. María sniffed, and gently took the jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. It was unsettling how much it smelled like him – smells that she couldn’t quite decipher.

Otherworldly.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered softly, teeth clattering. She tried again: “I don’t understand… a lot. But mostly, I don’t understand… why you’re here. Why would you come here?”

“I was curious.”

“You were curious,” María said. “You weren’t afraid?”

Then she remembered the talon wings, dark as midnight. No, she guessed not. She should be the one to fear him, she realized – not the other way around.

When Aidan didn’t answer, María said, “Prythian.” The word was as foreign to her as any language she didn’t master. She said, “So, seven courts. Who reigns them? Kings?”

“High Lords.”

“What’s the difference?”

Aidan smiled slightly. He was closer now, but still at a distance. He sat more comfortably in the sand, but his limbs looked awkward – she guessed he was trying to mimic her, trying to make himself seem smaller, so he didn’t frighten her further. It wasn’t exactly working. “I wish I knew.”

“We’ve kings here,” María said slowly. “Monarchies aren’t really a popular thing anymore, though.”

“Why not?”

She thought of this. It was difficult to try to explain half of Europe’s revolutions to him in words that he might understand. So she settled for, “Most of them were bad rulers. So people killed or rejected most of them.”

“Ah,” Aidan said, like that didn’t faze him.

A pause. “You’re a High Lord’s son then,” she said. “What… does that entail, exactly?”

“Well, not much, to be honest. My brother will inherit my father’s title someday. His mate will most likely inherit my mother’s… that is, if it…” Aidan lowered his eyes to the ground sadly, but trailed off, and María tucked pieces of information in the back of her mind. “I’m mostly the diplomat.”

“You said _mate_ ,” she murmured. “Mate as in… companion?”

Aidan stared at her for a long second, as if he didn’t know what to say to that, as if he didn’t expect her to ask such a question. And then, softly, he said, “Yes.”

“You mate for life, then?”

He looked nervous. “That’s complicated.”

“I can keep up,” María said.

Aidan paused. “Most of us do, yes. But some will take other lovers.”

María stared into space. “… at the same time?”

Surprisingly, he scoffed a gentle laugh, and smiled a bit. “Some of us might, but… most of us prefer to choose only one at a time.”

“That’s not so different from humans,” she said. That seemed to please him. María continued, “Do _you_ have a mate?”

Aidan hesitated. “No.”

“You’re lying to me,” she said softly, curving into the warmth of his jacket. “You promised not to lie.”

Aidan’s mouth twisted. “My mate doesn’t want me.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head – he didn’t want to talk about it, that much was clear. Whoever it was must have broken his heart. María paused, something irking her deep inside. It shouldn’t bother her that he already had a mate. Clearly, they were never meant to be, and after everything that she went through this afternoon – for example, almost _dying_ – that had only been made much more evident.

They were not made for each other.

María would just have to convince her heart of that.

“I think we can go now,” she said numbly, staring at the dark sky. “Nobody comes to this beach at night.”

Aidan looked over. “Why?”

María bristled slightly, muttering: “Probably because of the mermaids trying to drown them. Who knows.”

He smiled crookedly.

It hurt to see.

María slowly got up, but didn’t approach him, and Aidan did the same, staying exactly where he was. She knew he’d have to carry her. She knew she’d have to say goodbye. But she wanted neither of those things.

“You’ll have to trust me,” Aidan whispered. “I will not steal you and take you to my world or whatever it is that you’re thinking. I know it’s hard to believe it, but I don’t wish you any harm.”

María’s throat closed up. “Okay.”

His wings appeared, like they’d always been there. It was an effort not to flinch at the sight of them spreading, readying for flight. He wasn’t going to her, she’d have to go to him, she realized. It was nice of him to give her the space to do so at her own time, and yet-

Her legs stood frozen.

Everything she’d learned today… no one would believe it. María would have to live with this knowledge on her own, or be accused of insanity. Again, neither scenario sounded particularly enticing.

And worse – she realized she didn’t wish to say goodbye to him. That, deep down, no matter how afraid she was, she still wanted to ask him more, know more, _have_ more of him.

It was a contradiction she didn’t like.

María approached him in slow steps, taking a deep breath as she did. Aidan towered over her, and it was incredibly unsettling as he leaned down, wrapped one arm around her back, another over her knees, and picked her up in his arms – again, like he was holding on to a feather.

His eyes snapped to her ankle – and they flashed in the moonlight as they followed the line of the already dried blood.

His face showed something not unlike anger.

María breathed in. “It’s fine. Just a scratch.”

Aidan said nothing. He looked to shore, and murmured, “You’re ready?”

“No,” she admitted. But she held on to him nonetheless.

Then they were in the skies.

***

She didn’t scream this time.

The moment he rose into the skies, María just clung to his neck hard, her nails digging into his skin. She kept her eyes closed then, her body tense and stiff under his touch. It was desperate – the need to lean in and breathe in the scent of her at her neck. To lean over into her ear and whisper that she was alright, that he’d rather be cut in half than have her be hurt.

He did none of those things. _Obviously_.

He just said, “María,” gently. “Look.”

She didn’t. She closed her eyes harder.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered. “ _Trust_ me.”

Surprisingly, she did. Slowly, tentatively, she looked over – then down.

Which was a mistake.

Her legs inched up, her knee almost kicking him in the face, and her body squirming in his arms. Aidan could only smile, though it hurt him to see her frightened. “It’s alright, it’s fine. Look,” He gestured with his chin down below. In the dark waters, a thousand little moving figures appeared, almost glowing beneath the moonlight.

She tried to look down again, clinging harder to him. “Fish,” she muttered.

Aidan looked over to shore – she was right, no one was there. And through the darkness, through the shadows the rocks cast over the water, he was not going to be spotted. So he took a chance. He dived down, and María squealed in his arms. 

“Aidan, what are you doing,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no-”

But he didn’t crash into the water, like she was expecting – he soared right above it. His wings sent ripples through the waters, the waves parting to let him through. Water splashed into her hands. But she was safe. Nothing could hurt her in his arms – and María knew it.

Aidan felt her body relax then.

Inexplicably.

She settled down, staring into the surface of the water, their trembling reflection cast in the moonlight. María let out a sudden laugh, and it made his heart feel as big as the world.

“Reach out your hand,” he murmured.

The silence here was otherworldly, too. He could hear her heartbeat then, frighteningly quick, but steadier, he could hear every intake of breath, everytime she parted her lips. Eventually, María reached out tentatively, and they both watched as her fingers dragged over the water, parting foam and waves on their way.

_Gods_.

She was smiling.

Aidan heard that sharp intake of breath before her lips spread, that little missing heartbeat. It filled him with an amount of joy he hadn’t felt in a long time. Here, right now, her fears were forgotten.

María turned her head slightly to look at him, her smile still playing on her lips.

Her eyes glimmered.

She said, “Isn’t something going to drag me in?”

Aidan remembered the mermaids. “I think I might have scared it off. Nothing can touch you.”

María looked back into the water, and reached out a hand again. Aidan said softly, “Look up.”

She did – to the stars.

Aidan flew her there.

As close as he could, at least.

She held on tighter, and Aidan felt that familiar tickle in his stomach as he gained altitude. They were hidden by a rocky overhang here, shadowed by the dark night, away from city lights. The stars were clearer.

María didn’t seem to know where to look as Aidan paused mid-air, wings keeping them steady.

She took it all in, and then breathed, “This is a dream, isn’t it?”

Aidan didn’t answer, as he stared at her. He had all the words, and none of them seem to fit. None of them seemed enough.

Her eyes turned from the skies to meet his. Her heart skipped over a beat again. Aidan couldn’t help but smile as he heard it.

María’s eyes dipped to his mouth – to his smile.

Aidan took a breath, leaning in instinctively.

María didn’t stop him. 

She stared at him, in awe, and somehow delight, too. Then she blinked, and Aidan realized-

_What am I doing?_

He looked away, swallowing hard. This was a mistake, and he knew it. The more he stalled, the more his heart would ache when he left. It had to be done now. María seemed to realize the same.

Good.

She lowered her eyes then, blinking quickly. Aidan didn’t say anything else – he soared close to shore, then, when they were near enough, he plopped onto the water, at knee-length, and walked her to shore.

He placed her down onto the sand quietly, carefully, then looked toward the caves on the other side.

“Is that where you came from?” María asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Would I be able to find it?”

“I don’t know,” Aidan said. “I’m not sure humans would be able to cross.”

María looked down at her feet. “Aidan.”

He turned his eyes to her.

“I think you should talk to your mate again,” she whispered. “Whoever it is. You might miss out on being with them.”

He smiled sadly. “You think?”

She nodded, without looking at him.

Today, he had to say goodbye to her twice. Aidan only hoped this would be the last time.

“I’m sorry,” Aidan whispered. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She only shook her head, breathing in shakily. Then María seemed to remember-

“Your jacket,” she said, pulling it off her shoulders. The cold hit her immediately.

Aidan smiled. “Keep it. I’ve not need for it.”

María placed it close to her chest, before wrapping it around her shoulders again.

“Is that what you call it? A _jacket_?” He smiled gently.

María looked up, as if she wanted to respond something else. But she only said, “Take care, Aidan.”

“Stay safe,” he said back.

María smiled slightly, then turned her back on him.

Aidan watched her go, cold sea water tugging at his feet, his trousers.

At least it was a last goodbye – his only comfort.

***

They stared at each other, lying on their sides.

There was a little distance between them, but not much. Not much at all.

Luna committed Seren’s features to memory: his straight nose, his blue eyes, the crinkles underneath them, the crease between his brows that always seemed to be there, the freckles over his nose, on his chin. The shape of his lips.

Her heart was a drum in her chest.

Admitting that she felt something strong for Seren wasn’t easy – her body almost wished to reject it, put it aside, until both her mind and her heart forgot all about it. But she couldn’t forget. She couldn’t erase him, put him aside, nor reject him.

She wanted to kiss him again.

This time fully.

Luna knew that this was something she could never erase. The moment she took that step, it was done. She crossed that line, and there was no other way to go back.

Seren watched her too, his hand lying between them. At last, he whispered, “You don’t leave my heart, either.” The words were a web in her heart, wrapping around it, protecting it. “When you go, you always stay.”

Luna thought she would never be allowed to heal.

There would always be this wall between her and everybody else after what had happened to Leander. Luna had quickly come to realize, after Seren, that she’d forgotten how to _feel_. And she was not at all used to the tingling of her skin, the unsettling beat of her heart, nor the pleasant ache inside her chest.

Maybe she could begin to learn again.

With Seren.

She said, “I’m going to do something foolish again.”

Seren smiled this time. In the dark – a beam of light. “Will you?”

“Yes,” she declared.

“I’m waiting to see it,” he teased.

“Foolish things take courage,” she whispered breathlessly. “Give me a minute.”

Indeed, she needed a minute.

Or better yet a whole goddamn year to prepare her for what she was about to do.

Luna took in his eyes, the tenderness he showed, the patience, the-

She said, “Good thing you make me feel brave.”

Luna moved up on her elbow, and reached out a hand, hovering above his cheek, before finally setting it down on his skin. The contact made her heart spring in her chest, and she let out a little relieved breath at the feel of him so close again.

She’d missed him.

“I missed you,” she whispered. Voicing her thoughts was a new thing.

She liked it.

“I miss you,” Seren said, closing his eyes at her touch.

Luna took the leap.

Her hair fell like a curtain around them as she leaned down and touched her lips to his.

It was nothing like before.

A thunder of butterflies erupted around her. She almost gasped at the feel and pulled away, but forced herself to remain where she was. Just a touch of her lips on his, and then she broke away, just a little, breathing against his lips.

Seren rose on his elbows, meeting her halfway.

Nothing could have prepared her for the way he kissed her.

_Gods. Gods. Gods_.

She would burn until the end of her days.

Sweeter than honey, his mouth. Seren touched her cheek, pulling her closer. Luna’s hand trembled slightly, and he took it in his own. Luna’s free hand on his cheek drifted down to his jaw, her thumb feeling the roughness of his skin there, moving over to the curve of his skin.

How she’d ended up with her back against the mattress and Seren hovering above her, Luna didn’t know. But her hands had been found guilty, nonetheless.

She gasped softly, under her breath, as Seren’s lips moved from her mouth to her jaw. Her hands ran over the sides of his hair to stop at his nape, and at feeling him so close, his hands on her hips and his lips telling stories on her neck, near her ear, on her chin, on her throat, Luna thought maybe she could pay any price, feel any pain, just as long as she got him at the end of the day.

It was only when his lips neared a particular spot on her neck, and his hands made careful, soothing circles over her nightgown, that Luna realized just how deprived she was of this. Not just touch, but the emotion of it all: the sweet tenderness of a loving kiss on the crook of her neck, the safety in being wrapped up in warm warms, the rightness of it all.

Her nails dug into his spine as Seren kissed the lobe of her ear. She felt him grit his teeth at this, and his hands tightened over her waist.

_Fire, fire, fire, more fire._

Luna’s eyes fluttered closed. There was no way she would be able to forget the way he was making her feel. There was no way she could forget his kiss, his touch, his little sigh as Seren moved down to kiss her throat.

She bared it to him.

When she held him tighter, Seren responded by doing the same. Her nails dug into his skin, his dug into her waist, over her nightgown. Luna was lost in him, in everything that he was doing to her. Her mind was smoke. Covered in mist like the moon in the night sky.

Her legs made space to accommodate him.

Seren let out a little playful snarl at her throat that made giggle under her breath. But then the feel of his body aligning so perfectly with hers made her head spin, and her mouth snapped closed. She touched his chin, and led his lips back to hers.

Again, that fire.

Luna breathed in, and as Seren’s tongue caressed her bottom lip, her lips lifted involuntarily, meeting his. In response, Seren’s hips rolled against hers. She let out a little sound against his mouth, close to begging him for more-

Seren rested his brow against hers, and breathed in, letting a smile show on his lips.

Her body settled in the quietness of her chamber, and her heart settled, too, in the warmth of his body intertwined with hers. Luna’s thumb caressed his jaw, and Seren nuzzled his nose against hers, smiling down at her.

She could never get enough of this – of him.

But for tonight-

Seren moved out of her arms, but didn’t go anywhere. He lied down, then pulled her close to his side, slowly rubbing her back.

“Seren,” she whispered, groggy from her sleepiness, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Hmm?”

“The stars are so bright,” Luna murmured, and fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

It’d been too clear that she’d been trying to escape, so Atarah simply stood there, blood dripping from her hands, teeth bared, staring at Vanserra in the eyes.

He smiled a snake’s smile, eyes dipping to her hands, to the soaking fabric. “You seem to have hurt yourself, my Lady.”

Atarah knew she was smaller than most Fae, but she still managed to look down her nose at the male as she spat, “You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.” Atarah paced along the cage they’d put her in, ignoring her pain, and instead growing a hateful smile that wouldn’t usually come as naturally to her, but was as easy as breathing as she looked upon the face of the man who’d hurt her and Oren.

The man who almost captured Eva, who almost killed Ragnar.

“And why’s that, my Lady?”

She stopped then. Dust settled down over her bare feet. “My friends will come,” Atarah said, placing both her hands on her back. “And they will kill you.”

Vanserra _giggled_. The sound was shrill, evocating pure madness. His eyes sparkled as he looked her over. “And if they don’t, my Lady?”

“Well,” Atarah said, fighting to keep her voice even, her heart calm, her hands firm, without trembling. “Then _I_ will have to kill you, which would be a real shame. I know some people who would have a much grander time ripping you apart than myself, but alas.” She stared at him, her gaze piercing through him. “I am warning you, Vanserra. You either kill me now, or you will regret it.”

Vanserra approached her, leaning his face close to the bars, as if he was so used to the poison, that its smell barely affected him. Atarah did the same, slowly, facing him like a wolf might face a worthy opponent. “My dear,” said Vanserra sweetly, “you are very brave, but I have no intention of killing you. I will learn everything I can from you, and then I shall get into your pretty little mind, and erase all memory of me.”

Before Atarah could act, Vanserra stepped away, turning her back on her.

Impulsively, she said, “So your minion says. But that’s impossible. I know this, because if you had any way to do such a thing, you would’ve tortured me for information already and robbed me of my thoughts, but you haven’t. It’s because you can’t, can you, Vanserra?” Atarah smiled the moment she saw Vanserra’s eyes shift – she’d touched a sore spot. Good. “You’re bidding your time. But time slips away like blood from our hands.” Atarah raised her bloody hand, ignoring the ache, the sting of the poison in her veins, as Vanserra’s eyes watched a red drop hit the ground. “I warned your servant, and I shall give you the same warning: you touch Oren, and I will find a way to break these bars and I will take my time tearing you apart.”

Vanserra narrowed his eyes, folding his arms. “My, my. Such violence for a girl of your station.”

“Brush me away all you want,” Atarah said. “It doesn’t erase the fact that I can see right through you. You’re afraid. We’re on to you. And when we come for you, Vanserra, then you will know what true violence tastes like.”

With this, she turned away, sat on the rock in the corner of the cell, and began cleaning her hands in silence, her heart shuddering.

Vanserra watched her for a moment longer, contemplating her, before he began to speak: “My family came here a millennia ago, my Lady. Some say this world wasn’t ours to begin with, but stories come and go, and we cannot believe everything, isn’t that right? Nonetheless, we were different, even our name was different,” Vanserra smiled at her, even when she refused to look at him. “It appears that, thousands and thousands of years ago, the natives of this land tried to kill my family. Do you know what we did to them?”

Atarah said nothing.

Vanserra gave her a pleased smile. “No, I guess you wouldn’t wish to imagine such gore, despite your previous words. Well, my Lady, to put it simply, we _won_ them. Just like I will win you. I will win Eva Ashryver. I will win for all of us who feel like less standing next to our Queen Aelin and her decrepit, disgusting court. Fairness will rule then. No longer predators against prey – but only predators against predators. As it should be in our world.”

“You’re delusional,” she snarled. “The world you speak of will never exist. That is _not_ what fairness is-”

He took a step. “Then what is?” He cocked his head to the side, tapping a foot. “Is it breeding with humans to have a stronger race of Fae? Is it breeding Fae with shifters, to end up with an aberration? My Lady, do try to understand our side. We wish to understand creatures like Eva Ashryver and destroy them to leave the world a better place. A much, _much_ fairer place. A place where Fae will not have to sully themselves with humans, a place where we, full-blooded warriors, will not be seen as less compared to the powers of those who go against nature itself.”

Atarah stared at him in complete and utter shock.

This was what Vanserra wished to unleash: terror. He would willingly murder all of those who did not fit into his box, just so-

What?

Just so he could have a world that fit his ridiculous standards?

“You’re killing people for caprice,” she whispered, shaking her hand at the horror of it all. “You want to destroy a Queen and a Kingdom that has seen love and acceptance and peace thrive at last.”

Vanserra hung his head, as if he’d given up. “My Lady, there is nothing else for me to say. I will not promise the well-being of the male downstairs. I will promise you _nothing_. And if you want the poison in your veins to stop your heart, then all you have to do is try to escape again.”

Atarah’s heart skipped a terrorizing beat as she looked down at the state of her hands, at the colour of them, of her veins. Brown turning a strange purple, the colour of decay. She swallowed her fear, and closed her eyes, as if that would erase Vanserra’s voice prickling her mind, as if that would ease the pain.

“It may not kill you this time,” Vanserra said as he turned to leave. “But it might kill you if there is a second try.”

***

Oren stayed awake as much as he could, listening.

He knew that Vanserra had a handful of people that worked for him, possibly in every continent, killing as they went. If Oren wasn’t wrong, there were only two people in this house: Vanserra, and Hylas, but he had no way of knowing for sure.

It wouldn’t take them a long time to attack the royal family once again.

Oren rested his head against the stones, his body trembling from exhaustion. He could hear Atarah’s voice upstairs. His mind couldn’t stay focused long enough to understand what she was saying.

Gods, he hoped they didn’t touch her.

He couldn’t do anything if they did, and he reckoned she wouldn’t be able to do anything either. Oren imagined her shackled, those deep eyes narrowed, a snarl falling from her lips. Sometimes, if he kept his eyes closed long enough, his mind evoked worse thoughts.

_Move_ , his mind told him. _Act. Fight back._

But darkness’ arms were too tight.

***

Luna Moonbeam woke when the stars were still high in the skies.

Her cheek hurt.

She stretched her legs, and her sleepy mind wondered at the strange warmth embracing her. Her knees against someone’s knees. Her chest against someone’s chest. Her heart beating in time with-

_Seren_.

Her lips tingled, and the memories came back to her in full force. She lifted her head slowly, and saw that she’d been sleeping on top of him. His wings enveloped her.

Seren slept with his lips parted, his head turned to the side on the pillow. His hair fell over his face, and Luna’s heart ached at the sight – his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the slight flutter of his dark lashes against his cheeks. His arm, swung over her, his hand holding on to her hipbone, keeping her close.

Her hand moved before she could think better of it.

Gently, with careful intent, Luna dragged her finger along the line of his chin, and Seren did not even stir.

 _Heavy sleeper,_ she mused.

Her fingers spread open, and her palm rested on his cheek, her thumb getting acquainted with the corner of his mouth.

He was beautiful. Like nothing she’d ever seen.

But Luna’s eyes saw beyond that – there was an ache inside her heart as she played back his words, their conversations, Seren’s smiles, her initial shyness around him. There was a little fire growing inside her, keeping her belly warm, her heart warmer, flames whispering his name into the hollow parts inside her chest.

She wanted him to be hers, and her to be his.

Luna spent too long thinking that she’d never feel this again. She’d wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them up to her weak chest, and she’d hidden in a tough shell with no space to let anyone else in. But Seren had creeped in.

And she’d let him.

Leander had been her very first love. He’d burned bright, a sun she could never quite reach – and she guessed she never really got to. Leander had always shined more than Luna ever could, and… perhaps now she could admit that, more often than not, she’d felt as if she could never shine that bright, though she’d tried. Oh, she’d tried. But while Leander was the sun, Luna had always felt like a lone star, looking at him from far away.

_What would you say, Leander?_ Luna thought as she gazed down at Seren. _What would you say if I told you I think I’ve found my star?_

Seren’s eyes slowly opened then, two stars staring back at her.

He breathed in, and Luna felt his hand tighten around her, his wings falling completely closed, forming a cocoon over her.

And then – he smiled at her.

She’d never seen him sleepy before. Never seen him slowly wake against her.

He was divine.

“Hello,” he murmured, his voice all croaky.

“Hi,” she breathed, slightly dazed.

Seren watched her without letting go. And then, slowly, his smile grew, becoming crooked and even more beautiful. “Were you watching me while I slept?”

Luna’s breath hitched. “No.”

“My, my. You _were_ watching me while I slept.”

Luna looked away in embarrassment – but she had nowhere else to look, for his wings shielded her from the world around her, so she just glued her eyes to the patterns of his tunic.

Before she could muster enough dignity for an apology, Seren laughed softly against her, his noise skimming the side of her face, that felt warmer each second that passed. He kissed her there, and over her jaw. “Those cheeks,” he whispered, “are begging to be bitten by me.”

Luna hid her face in the crook of his neck as response, and it only made Seren’s chest shake with more laughter. It reverberated through her, that soft sound against her ear. It dug into her bones, into her heart, made it its happy place.

Seren nudged her face with his slightly, so she would look at him. She found his eyes watching her with that same tenderness he showed her before when they kissed, but also a ferventness that promised her things that she never even imagined she could want.

Luna said, “Perhaps I was watching you. Just a little.”

Seren touched her chin. “Your gaze will never frighten me,” he said. “ _You_ will never frighten me.”

And with that, he leaned in, and wrecked her mind, her soul, her heart, all over again.

It took great resistance not to let her hands trace the sides of his body, or the front of his chest – to feel the contours of his curves and slip her hand beneath those clothes to feel the warmth of his skin underneath the pads of her fingers. Seren kissed her without hurry, as if time was theirs, as if the very world was theirs, like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than tasting her, like he’d lose sleep over her any night.

Luna’s eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his tongue against her bottom lip, and as her hands traced his cheeks, it was easy getting so lost in him that she forgot her very own name. Seren breathed against her, grip tightening over her hips. It was like he was trying just as hard not to turn them and pin her down to the mattress.

The flame inside her rose, and rose, and kept rising.

Luna couldn’t breathe.

_You will never frighten me._

_You will never frighten me._

_You will never frighten me._

Luna knew that she would be willing to let him keep burning her until there was no capacity of rational thought left in her anymore, but, as it happened, they still hadn’t gotten their tight grip on time, and the world was far off from being theirs.

So she took his bottom lip between her teeth, pulling back slightly, the taste of him forever on her tongue, before she let go, and touched her brow to his, trying to settle herself.

Seren breathed hard against her, his hands slowly moving her nightgown back down her legs, covering her back up. She smiled as he did so, thinking it was both silly and endearing that _he_ was trying to compose _her_.

Eyes still closed, Luna whispered, “I have to take you home.”

Seren’s eyes opened to watch her.

Luna pulled back, watching him, too. She traced his cheek. “I want you here with me,” she admitted, her voice lower than a whisper, as if the very thought of it made her feel too vulnerable to put into words. “But I can’t.”

Seren’s eyes did not change. The tenderness did not leave them. “I understand,” he said to her, the tip of his nose brushing hers in the sweetest of gestures. “I am afraid to leave you to face whatever is coming.” He touched her cheek, pulling her hair away from her eyes. When Luna thought Seren would kiss her again, he continued: “But I am much more afraid for whoever dared to hurt your family. When you punish them, make them regret it.”

Luna smiled softly against him, her throat closing up.

There would never be a time when he doubted her, she realized. Seren would always think her invincible.

It was exactly how she wanted to think of herself, too.

Seren sniffed slightly, his thumb brushing over her chin. “We should go.”

She knew it just as well – but moving was the hard part. Her bones ached as they stood facing each other, their hands clasped between them.

“Are you ready?” She whispered.

Seren smiled, leaned down, kissed her once, so softly, so briefly, before whispering back, “I am ready.”

One second, they were there, watching one another. And the next second, much like a shooting star, they were gone.

***

“You were a soldier;” Atarah said to Hylas that same afternoon, her hands still bloody.

Only minutes before, she’d heard the door lock upstairs. Viktor Vanserra was out of the house, leaving his silent birds in their cages.

Hylas sat on the ground, against the far wall, staring at her sideways. His eyes were glazed over, like he wasn’t really seeing her, completely lost in thought.

“Yes,” Hylas said. “I’ve always been a soldier.”

“You always fought for Aelin,” she said, taming her voice. Hard as it was, it was the only other plan Atarah could come up with. If this failed, she’d be lost. “Was it really your lover’s death that unravelled your anger against the Queen? Against her family?”

Hylas turned to face the wall in front of him with a slow blink. He sniffed slightly, and with his voice low, even, he said, “Do you not find it a good enough reason, my Lady?”

Atarah lowered her head, refusing to answer.

“Maybe I am mad,” Hylas whispered, as if speaking to himself, “maybe I am mad for joining Vanserra. Perhaps I am worse than the evil that took my love from me. But I am what I am.”

“I doubt that,” Atarah said. “I think you’re lost.”

Hylas smiled bitterly. “I murdered a fellow soldier without blinking an eye, Atarah. She was a friend. I felt no remorse. I _justify_ it. I _keep_ justifying everything I do. I told you once you shouldn’t find me redeemable. You should listen.”

Atarah looked up – that was the first time he’d called her by her name. Perhaps – perhaps she still had a chance to save herself and Oren.

“Maybe you’re not redeemable,” Atarah said slowly, trying to make her voice as weak as possible. “Maybe you’re the worst kind of evil. But even then – I don’t think you’re as evil as the male that you answer to. You lost your mate. Your heart was taken away from you.” She looked away, facing her bloody hands. “I don’t know what I would become if I lost someone I love.” She thought of Luna – her bright smile, her hugs. She thought of her parents, their jokes, both dancing in the garden in the moonlight, without any music on. She thought of her siblings, her friends, she thought of- “I cannot judge you. Perhaps if I found myself out of here, I would do worse to you.”

“You would have mercy,” Hylas drawled, without looking at her. “In my last dying breath, you would have mercy. That is the person you are.” A pause. “I suppose you have more questions.”

Atarah sighed. “Why Oren?”

“I’ve told you,” he said. “Much like yourself, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I overheard that he had an urgent message for the Queen, of a threat. When Luna Moonbeam took you away, I stayed behind to listen. Your friend sleep-talks.” A pause. “Most of what he said was gibberish, really, but it wasn’t difficult to connect the dots and realize why he was there in the first place. I knew I had to do something about it.”

“Why not take Eva instead?” Atarah asked, jaw tense. “If you’re a spy infiltrated in the castle, why not aim for who you truly want?”

“The Princess is never alone, even in her own chambers,” Hylas said. “Maids come and go, Ragnar Ashryver is always at her tail, guards flank her everywhere she goes, and she spends the majority of her time with her parents. She’s constantly surrounded. I can’t get to her alone.” A pause. “My only opportunity was when they’d come to my master’s fake home without any guards. But alas, my master’s lover had been reckless, and got herself killed. I told him she’d never be good for the job – I was not heard, nor paid any mind.”

If he was telling her all of this so easily, then Atarah knew for certain that Hylas did not expect her to either come out of here alive, or with her own mind.

“Hylas,” Atarah murmured, “please don’t hurt my friends.”

He went silent as death. Slowly, he looked at her, his eyes unreadable. Despite this, there was something behind those eyes that made Atarah’s hair stand on edge – something truly frightening. A void that couldn’t be filled. A hunger that couldn’t be satisfied. Atarah didn’t have any doubts then, as she stared back at Hylas: when he told her that he was not worthy of redemption, he was being truthful.

The shivers that took over her body made Atarah forget momentarily about the pain in her hands, the poison still in her veins.

“Please,” she whispered.

Hylas swallowed hard. “You know it’s not up to me.”

“It is,” she said. “Don’t kill Eva. It’s not her fault that your mate is gone.”

Hylas visibly shuddered, as if the memory still stole his life.

He took an unsteady breath, and lifted himself up, dusting off his trousers. “I will kill Eva Ashryver,” he said. “And I will kill every shifter that comes across my path. They shouldn’t exist, my Lady. And Queen Aelin is just as bad for condoning their existence.”

Afraid he’d leave, Atarah also stood, and quickly asked, “You haven’t been to the palace again – don’t they suspect you?”

Hylas paused, shoulders sinking. “Perhaps they already know it was me. But they won’t find my scent.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her, and something like pain crossed his eyes. “I’m good at hiding.”

Atarah stood near the bars, watching him, schooling her features into something subdued. Like pity.

“Who did you have to hide from?”

Hylas’ jaw tensed.

“The other guards?” Atarah asked. “A sibling?” A pause. “A parent?”

She saw the truth in his eyes. The little change there. As if the nightmares were rewinding behind that gaze. Hylas shook his head, however, and said, “Why the curiosity?”

“I’m trying to understand you,” she said, as softly as she could.

“It won’t get you out of here,” he said.

“I know,” she lied. “But I need to know.”

“Looking for the good will only end up badly for you, my Lady,” Hylas said, and, to the ever-growing hope in her eyes, he took a step forward, and another. _Not close enough_. “Trust me on that.”

“Who chased you?” Atarah asked, drawing as close as she could.

He lowered his eyes. Hylas considered her question for a while. And then, shrugging, as if thinking he had nothing else better to do, thinking that it wouldn’t – couldn’t – hurt to tell her, and perhaps secretly aching to, he whispered, “My father was not a good male.”

She watched him, feigning sympathy. “Did he hurt you?”

Hylas swallowed hard. Then he blinked, and said, “Sometimes, my Lady, a youngling is born weak in its bones, in its mind. When you sire a weakling, you have two choices: you nurture it, or you make it stronger.”

“I have no doubt which option your father chose,” she said softly. “Teaching your child to be strong does not erase the need for nurturing.”

Hylas smiled sadly. “It is the way of some.”

“You know that’s not right,” she said. “You know what it has turned you into.”

“And yet I’m still standing,” Hylas said.

“Barely,” she shot back.

A pause. Maybe she could break him before Hylas realized it. She continued, “I’m sorry. I cannot imagine what it must have been like.”

“No,” he said, staring at her hands. “You can’t.” His eyes glazed over. “Beating me wasn’t the worst of it. The _words_ … they stay with you. The insults, the screams, the anger. You treat your child as if it’s nothing, and they will grow up believing it.” Hylas paused then, blinking, gathering himself. “It is what it is.”

“Wait.”

Hylas turned to her, taking a step forward.

_Close enough._

“Hylas,” Atarah said softly. “I’m sorry.”

He lowered his head, as if he’d thank her.

But Hylas never got to.

As his eyes left hers, Atarah moved with the little strength she had left.

He never saw it coming, and perhaps that is the worst part of it all – he hadn’t been able to fight.

But Atarah could not dwell on it.

Her arms had stretched between the bars, and, as quick as a snakebite, her hands wrapped around his neck. Before he could defend himself, Atarah _pulled_.

His face hit the bars, filled with poison.

Her arm brushed it, and Atarah pushed her own pain away and out of her mind as she kept pulling Hylas against the poison with all her mighty strength. He could scream all he wanted – and he did. He screamed and fought, but Atarah had the intent of leaving here with her own life and Oren beside her.

She had no intention to lose.

His screams almost made her show mercy.

Almost.

So there it was – what she could do to save the ones she loved.

The burns in his neck hurt to look at. The bars seared through flesh, sizzling blood spilling into her hands, over his clothes, the bars, the ground. His hands surged forward, grabbing her, but the pain was too much, the poison too quick. It seeped into him, and the smell of burnt flesh almost made Atarah pullback.

Her strength did not fail her. 

Not a minute later, Hylas slowly went limp in her arms, the poison working too fast.

Atarah pulled back at last, and Hylas fell into the ground with a weak groan, his clothes burnt where the bars touched. She tore her eyes away from his ruined neck and face, and slumped onto the ground, clutching her own arm.

The sobs came quick.

Her breath was gone.

She’d killed him.

Atarah trembled form head to toe, her own pain and her own anguish two waves collapsing over one another.

She’d killed someone.

_Move, Atarah._

She’d killed Hylas.

_Atarah, you have to move._

_Oren. Luna._

Oh, Gods. Oh, Gods.

_Move. Move. **Move**._

Slowly, she breathed in, out, in, out. Atarah could waste no more time. Vanserra’s mistake had been to trust the poison, to trust Hylas. Atarah wouldn’t make a mistake of her own by wasting precious time to escape.

She crawled to the edge of the bars, avoiding looking at Hylas as much as she could, and slipped her arm through the metal. She could see the poison drip down. As best as she could with all her trembling limbs, she searched his pockets for the key, and she thanked all the Gods and Goddesses looking over her. She’d been right all along – she’d scented the key on Hylas.

He’d trusted her. She’d killed him.

_He would’ve killed you and your family._

_I told you once you shouldn’t find me redeemable. You should listen_ , he’d said to her.

Atarah forced herself to look at his eyes, clear and unmoving. Letting out a sob, she whispered, “I listened.”

_Move, Atarah._

She opened the cell door.

Her bare feet skipped over Hylas’ body. The smell of his ruined flesh followed her all the way down to the stairs leading to the underground floor. Her legs trembled so much she could barely walk.

“Oren.”

No candles were lit, so her eyes had to adjust to the darkness for a few seconds. There was no answer.

_Oh, Gods, they killed him._

“Oren,” she sobbed, moving to the cell at the far end of the underground chamber, stumbling into a table. “Oren. Oren.”

And then – “Atarah.”

“Oh, Goddess,” she whispered, taking a breath of relief. His voice – he’d been only unconscious. He was fine. _He is fine_. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“ _Atarah_.”

She saw his silhouette then, as the darkness became easier to navigate through. He was slumped against the wall, but when he saw her, Oren made to stand in trembling limbs. From what she saw, in those small seconds, they hadn’t fed him.

“It’s okay,” she kept whispering, mostly to herself. “It’s okay.” Her hand shook so bad she could barely hold the key. “It’s okay.”

The cell opened, and Oren collapsed over her.

His arms were around her, pulling her closer, even if he could barely stand. His strength took the remaining breath out of her lungs, but Atarah didn’t care – she held him just as tight, her eyes fluttering closed. “It’s okay,” she said again, so softly, her voice muffled against his chest. “It’s okay.”

Oren squeezed her, and a sob fell out of his lips.

“It’s okay,” she cried, pushing him as close as she could. “We’re going to be okay.”

Oren pulled back slowly, his hand supported in the wall, as his eyes took her in – the state of her. Bloody hands, bloody dripping down her arm, her nightgown ripped to pieces-

“We have to go,” she whispered. “We have to go, Oren.”

“Yes,” he managed to let out. “Yes.”

And then he took her hand.

Birds were never meant for cages.

***

Dawn ripped through the skies, and the twinkling stars made their final bow, waving goodbye.

She’d _missed_ it.

The place her body had unexpectedly pulled her into, the strange world of Prythian, the beautiful city of Velaris – she’d missed it all.

And she was going to miss him, most of all.

Seren didn’t let go of her hands, even when they’d stumbled into each other after her teleporting them both back to Seren’s home. It was the only place she truly knew in the Night Court – his chambers.

They still looked just like she remembered them.

He stood watching her, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. Throughout the night, Luna had awoken time and time again dreading this very moment when she would have to leave him. But it had to be done.

Atarah needed her.

Her family needed her.

Luna lifted his hand to her mouth, and kissed his palm once, lips lingering. His other hand pulled her closer, into him. Against him, Luna could barely think, but she allowed herself this one thing, this one moment. A little sunlight before the storm.

“It’s going to be alright,” Seren whispered into her hair.

She needed to believe it, too. Luna nodded, her throat in knots, her cheek against his chest.

Seren’s heart skipped once, twice, and she closed her eyes, listening, breathing him in.

“It kills me that I cannot do anything…” he began to whisper, but Luna looked up, took his chin, and kissed him gently.

Seren cradled her head as Luna’s arms rose to wrap around his shoulders. Gentle, tiny little kisses were given, before Luna pushed herself onto her tiptoes, and kissed him fully one last time – until the next.

When it was time to break away, Seren touched her cheek and whispered, “I have something to tell you.” 

And he sounded-

Luna’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

Seren swallowed hard, parted his lips, but no sound came out. He breathed in then, like he was trying to reach for the courage to speak, but it was running faster than he could catch it.

“Seren,” Luna breathed.

Seren pecked her lips once, mouth lingering on hers for a few moments, before he said softly, “I want you to spend more nights watching me.”

Her heart rested at last. She smiled softly, letting out a breath. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Well then,” Luna said, hands moving down his chest to stop at his heart. “I want it, too.”

They stared at each other, the weight of that confession hovering above them not like stacks of bricks – but like soft, gentle clouds.

She said to him, “When it is done, I will come find you.”

“Will you?”

Her arms wrapped around his middle. “Yes,” Luna whispered, looking up at him. “If you say so, I’ll come back.”

“Come back,” he whispered back without missing a beat.

Luna nodded, “I will.”

He touched his brow to hers – a sweet little gesture he always seemed to do with her. And then, just as sweetly, he said, “You are capable of everything and more, Luna. You were right before. Your powers are not where your abilities end. They go beyond that. Think of the impossible, and do it.” He kissed her head. “Come back to me.”

Luna breathed in, eyes closing.

Seren gently pulled back, hand moving down her arm until it reached her hand. “Are you ready?” He whispered.

Luna opened her eyes. The sun greeted her outside, behind Seren. An encouragement.

Luna took another breath, for good measure. “I am ready.”

***

The human girl had terrible, terrible nightmares.

Her mother found it odd – those long hours of the morning spent in bed. But the girl had no explanation. She threw a couple of whispered half-assed reasons into the air, just so she could be left alone. 

María buried her head under the sheets.

The nightmares did not leave.

They did not leave for days.

***

“You haven’t eaten.”

A friend of hers sat across her kitchen table. María blinked, and the world came into focus – the worried lines on her friend’s face, the full meal she hadn’t touched, the colours of her house, as familiar as her own hands.

“Exams are killing me,” she said, non-committal.

Her friend didn’t believe her, and María didn’t try to convince her otherwise.

She’d become too sensitive, too aware of the world around her. Yesterday, her mother had called her name from the living room, and María had dropped her tea onto the ground, glass shattering and water spilling over her shoes. Her brother had touched her shoulder when he came home, and she’d flinched as if he’d burned her.

María still hadn’t taken off the bandage around her ankle.

If she saw the claw marks, she would be reminded that it all had been real.

She couldn’t face it.

She couldn’t.

Not yet.

So the bandage stayed.

And the nightmares did, too.

***

A week later, her mind was a whirlwind.

Classes were a distraction, but the world around her had become strange, unknown, _dangerous_. She stared at strangers and wondered what they were hiding. Would they suddenly sprout wings? Fangs? Could whatever had attacked her crawl out of the sea and attack someone else? Would it find her here?

Books were her companions.

It was an escape, also, from her family, her friends. María knew that she would have to come back to life eventually; she couldn’t keep worrying people around her. But…

She needed answers.

Myths and legends spread across pages never matched what she had seen, what she had learned and heard from Aidan. She searched high and low, every library she could reach, every book she could lay her eyes on, but the stories kept changing, and nothing made sense, and children’s stories about monsters are supposed to be just that: _stories_.

 _It was real_ , she thought to herself one day, staring out the window of her bedroom. It was as real as the arms that had wrapped around her, the smile reserved just for her, the wings falling over her, warming her, keeping her safe.

No one would believe her.

They’d call her crazy.

But-

But she _needed answers._

María wasn’t a liar.

But when you stand at the edge of a cliff, looking down at all the nightmarish waves, the treacherous rocks and their slippery surfaces, you not only get frightened – you are also marvelling at the view. When you’re staring at a tiger behind a cage, there is always a part of you that wishes to nurture it, even if it might hurt you.

When you know there is more to this world than you realize, you cannot help but crave to know _everything_ else.

And perhaps she the moth flying around a flame. Perhaps she was a bird that couldn’t fly overlooking a dangerous cliff. Perhaps she was a child that didn’t know any better putting its hand inside a tiger’s cage.

But it had to be done. She would not rest until she did it.

So – no, she wasn’t a liar. But convincing her mother that she was going on a road trip the next week with her friend was the only excuse she could come up with. Her family was happy to see her smiling, and eating. María did her part. She did the smiling, and the eating, and the talking. She pretended to sleep.

She lied.

And then, when the next week came around, she was back at the beach.

A backpack carried mundane human things that would be of no use to her, she knew. But her heart felt calmer knowing there was at least one bottle of pepper spray in there somewhere.

María stayed very far away from the waves. She waited for the low tide, and then she searched the caves, away from everybody’s eyes.

_God above_ , she thought, _what am I doing?_

The sun was setting, and María squinted against the light, her back pressed against the stone. She breathed in shakily. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure.

Go. Go. Go.

She wanted answers, didn’t she? There had to be an explanation for that… _ache_ inside her every since Aidan left. There had to be more to his world. There had to be… she _had_ to make sense of it all.

It just had to make sense.

María felt silly walking over the dry rocks, touching the rocks of the various caves that spread through the shore. Nothing happened.

She wasn’t magical.

It was stupid that she thought she could find a passage to the _Faerie world._

She slumped down, sniffing slightly. Pressing her denim jacket closer to her, she stared at the waves, and sneered when the water crawled too close for her liking.

“Fuck right off,” she muttered.

She thought of Aidan.

She tried not to, but her thoughts usually wondered to him. Skipping through the water, soaring above it like a bird, in his arms, it…

She sighed.

It had been like a dream.

She thought he’d kiss her then. When they were up, far into the skies, hidden away from everyone, in a place that felt entirely their own world, she thought he’d kiss her. And she thought she’d let him.

This was silly.

This was unlike her.

She needed to go home.

María stood, watching the waves, the sun. It was time to say goodbye to Aidan for good. And whatever she’d learned…

In time, she would learn to cope with it. She would, she was certain of it.

Her turned to go back.

A buzzing sound stopped her, and María’s breath caught. She got her phone from her pocket, and stared at the screen. No messages.

That buzzing continued.

Slowly, she turned.

Her hand gently touched the stone, covered with moss. The buzz increased, until she felt like wires had been cut inside her skull, sizzling in the rain. She removed her hand, but the noise didn’t stop.

Her heart beat out of her throat, increasing with each second that passed, as María stared at the caves around her. Waves cascaded over the rocks, and the tide was rising.

Then, her feet began to move, as if on their own accord.

She would rather follow her head than her instinct in these circumstances, but something told her to go forward. A million bees were inside her ears, and María knew she’d reached the right place as she stopped in front of particular smooth wall.

Her ears might be bleeding.

There were countless rocks just like this one, jutting out, and smooth, as if someone other than the waves had polished them. It didn’t mean anything.

“What the…” She began.

The rock _moved_.

Or her vision was blurring.

María stepped back, then turned to look behind her – the sea was in focus. Perfect focus.

Oh.

_Oh, God._

Almost afraid, entirely hopeful, she turned the rock again.

It didn’t so much as move as… gently _ripple_. It was so small she almost missed it. But there it was again. And again.

“Could this be?” She whispered.

Her head was swimming.

It was now or never.

María closed her eyes, and pictured dark wings, soft eyes, a gentle mouth.

When she reached to touch the stone, there was nothing.

And the human girl fell.

***

Her leathers felt heavy and unfamiliar.

Luna stared at her reflection, and was shocked to see that she barely recognized her own face – her eyes were dark and puffy, signs that she hadn’t slept. Her brow was strong and darker than her hair, a crease at the top of her nose. In her leathers, she looked fuller, tougher. She leaned her hands into her dresser, and lowered her head, reciting a silent prayer.

Whatever happened, she would fight her way through.

And she would bring her friend home.

She would keep her family safe.

No one else would be taken from her.

_Ever_ again.

_Your powers are not where your abilities end. They go beyond that._

Luna breathed in.

_Think of the impossible, and do it._

If only.

If only she could know the limitations of her own powers, perhaps it would serve her better in this war.

She thought of Seren’s words, of Amara’s words, as she looked at herself in the mirror. She imagined herself as an endless dark well, limitless.

_Think of the impossible, and do it._

She seemed to have already done the impossible – teleporting herself to a world she’d never been to. To the arms of a male she’d never met. Questions still rose inside her – how she’d managed to accomplish such a thing was beyond her. She’d been pulled to Seren, perhaps because… she’d needed him.

 _And I need you here, Atarah,_ she thought. _Safe._

Luna halted.

_Think of the impossible, and do it._

She stared at her reflection, watching as her eyes widened, as her mind swirled.

Thought after thought after thought.

She’d teleported to Seren, without knowing where he was. Without knowing _him._ But most importantly – she hadn’t known his exact location. Couldn’t have known.

Just like she couldn’t know Atarah’s.

“Think of the impossible,” Luna whispered.

Perhaps it wouldn’t work.

Perhaps she would be sent to any other place in this world or the next, but-

But Luna knew she had to try.

Light sparkled in her mind, bright as the sun, clear as stars.

“Think of the impossible,” she said again. “And _do_ it.”

Luna stepped back.

And then, she closed her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

Aran Ashryver was particularly proud about two aspects of his own person: his impeccable colour-coordination, for one, and on the other hand, his ability to find almost anything – and _anyone_.

The Perranth Mountains and their tenebrous peaks touched the skies, hiding the afternoon sun. Four guards flanked him. Aran thought that sending so many soldiers just for his protection alone was, frankly, a little bit of an exaggeration, but his mother had threatened to lock him inside the Orynth gates for all eternity, lest he agree.

He knew the risk, of course. He was not a skilled shifter. While his twin could transform into any form she knew well enough, Aran could, at best, switch the colour of his eyes, or make himself taller, or even uncurl his dark hair for only a handful of hours at a time. But he was still a fairly good fighter, after all. He wasn’t rendered _completely_ useless.

“If you insist on going,” his mother had snapped at him, tears in her eyes, red cheeks and shaking hands, “then you _will_ take guards. At least seven.”

“Mama,” he tried to reason, but Lysandra was already shaking her head before Aran could speak. “It will bring more unwanted attention to myself. Rosamel is only an hour or so away by horse-“

“I _don’t_ care.”

It was a battle already lost. If it was up to his mother and father, Aran would never leave the palace.

“There are people who can find the one we need,” Lysandra had told him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Why are you so insistent on going by yourself?”

Aran had gone white as chalk. He’d felt it – the blood gone from his face, leaving no warmth behind as he remembered – as the image of his sister carrying a bloody Ragnar, tears striking her face, still wearing a predator’s eyes, crying until her lungs could no longer draw breath, flashed in the back of his mind.

“They tried to hurt Evie,” Aran whispered to his mother. “I won’t stand around while you and everyone else works to get rid of this threat. I refuse, mother. And I know you wish to protect me, but I am faster than an army, and I know where to look. You know we do not have any more time to lose. Please, let me go. Please, let me help. Let me _fight_.”

His mother knew that keeping him there wasn’t an option. And while it hurt to see her in pain, to see his father lower his eyes in surrender, Aran’s mind was set. Rosamel waited for him that morning – he would do his part.

So now, there he was, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon. If he’d been alone, Aran would’ve already reached the edge of the Perranth Mountains – but alas.

There was work to do.

“My Lord,” one of the guards said – a female, about his age, young but ruthless in her own right. She’d been by his side for years now. The guard pointed with her chin to the village down below, surrounded my great mountains. “We should find shelter before sundown. Allow me to go.”

Aran halted his horse beside hers. “You’re wearing Terrasen colours,” he said, signalling to the sash she wore across her chest. “Perhaps it would be best to lose it for the time being.”

She nodded, and as she removed her sash, Aran’s eyes stared at the small village, breathing in the mountain air. “Sage.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Aran said, “There is a small inn on the outskirts of town – it stands between a bakery and a flower shop, there,” he pointed. “Please try your luck there, first. If you can. And stay safe.”

Sage nodded curtly, dark eyes shining with courage as she said, “Are you sure we will be able to find him here, my Lord?”

Aran’s lips drew a slight, albeit tight, smile. “I am sure.”

***

Naza Archeron was the daughter of warriors – _not_ a babysitter.

Grumbling under her breath, and with an irritated flutter of her wings, she stomped all the way to her cousin’s townhouse, grinding her teeth as she went. Feyre and Rhysand would not believe her lies for much longer, she knew. And Seren needed to know that, too.

The High Lord of Spring’s death ceremony was only a day away, and when Seren Archeron hadn’t made his way to the House of Wind that night to prepare for the trip ahead, his parents had immediately thrown the question at _her_ – as if _she_ knew all the secrets of the universe, including where her idiotic cousin might have dragged his stubborn ass to.

Well.

It hadn’t been a difficult guess.

“He realized he better bring an offering to Andras,” Naza had said, without stumbling over her words. Andras – Tamlin’s son, Seren’s close friend, and now High Lord of Spring. Hadn’t even gotten the proper time to mourn his father, and already holding the weight of a crown.

“Last minute?” Feyre had asked, raising a brow.

“You know him,” Naza had said casually, looking down at her sharp nails. “I better stay behind so he doesn’t waste that much time.”

Feyre had sighed heavily. “Alright, then. Bring Aidan with you. He said he’d stay behind for a day to finish the rest of his studies, but remind him to come.” She stared out the window, her gaze far away. “It’s important for us to at least show Andras our support.”

Naza hadn’t missed the glint in her uncle’s eyes, as Rhysand stood back to stare at her for a second longer. She’d stared back, holding his gaze as long as she could, and Rhysand drew a little secret smile that told her he knew something was up, and that he was certain to come back when they returned from Spring. He was letting her lie for his sons for the time being.

Both Seren and Aidan had to tell them what was going on. Naza didn’t have the time – nor the patience – to play these little lying games. There were people to snarl at, little Illyrian brats to train, necks to snap, for Cauldron’s sake.

When she’d gotten to the townhouse, it was empty.

“Fuck,” she whispered, standing in the middle of her cousin’s chamber, where his scent was still fresh. “Where the fuck are you, Seren?”

Aidan, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Naza glared at the dirty coat that hung on Seren’s chair – Aidan’s coat, which he might forgotten at his brother’s house. He’d gone to the human world, after all.

“Damn you both,” said Naza, and sat against the wall, waiting.

***

Viktor Vanserra stared at his reflection in the little hand mirror displayed on the market table. He smiled at himself. Dawn was rising, and the vendors were already stacking their tables with that day’s trinkets, foods, sculptures, amulets, drinks, remedies, poisons.

He had a special interest on two of those things.

“My Lord Llyr, how are you this morning?” The kind vendor that spoke to him was a half-breed creature, exceptionally young of features, but Viktor knew for certain that he must be over two centuries old. It repelled Viktor – those human eyes, staring at him. That strange beauty that could only be created by the joining of two species.

The male, of course, did not know Viktor’s real name. He liked to save it for his true enemies, after all, because how else would he begin to evoke fear in the hearts of those he wished to end?

In fact, not even the handful of people that worked for him knew his real name, except for Hylas. All the others that were fortunate enough to come across Viktor Vanserra only knew him by the names he’d created for himself.

You see, a person can be a thousand different people. Viktor did not need Lady Lysandra’s talents, nor Eva Ashryver’s, to fool others. No. To get what he wanted, Viktor only needed a different name each time and use his race’s most prized skill – _lying_. He’d have his parties under one name, take lovers with another name, plant the seeds of his plan in the soil of this wretched kingdom with another, so that he left no traces of himself behind.

He’d been careless in the past, of course. Little mistakes, here and there. He was a passionate male, and that brought him trouble more often than it brought him anything good. But Viktor had always managed to keep his head above the water.

He would always keep his head above the water.

“Very good, very good, thank you,” Viktor said, tearing his eyes away from the male to look down at the mirror once again. “Tell me about this mirror.”

The male smiled enthusiastically – he had the look of a scholar. Someone who could gain all the knowledge in the world, and it would still never feel like enough. The male walked around his table of little trinkets and amulets.

“This one belonged to my great-great-grandmother,” he began, showing him the mirror. “It is very valuable, indeed, my friend. Look upon your reflection, and you will see nothing else but yourself. But if someone else looks at your reflection… it is said they will see exactly what you are beneath the skin you wear.” The male chuckled, as if he’d told a joke. “Of course, that is what the stories say.”

Viktor smiled pleasantly. “The stories are true.”

The male’s laughter halted, and a slightly confused smile took its place. “No, no, friend. I do not wish to fool you – this mirror is not magical. It is but a humble family heirloom. A piece of decoration with a lot of history.”

“You strike me as an intelligent male,” Viktor said softly, staring at the male with knowing eyes. “You know that mirror is not _just_ a mirror.” When the male showed further confusion, Viktor cleared his throat, and began to explain: “That mirror is only one of many that were destroyed and lost a long time ago. Can you guess what they were used for?”

The male only blinked, and hesitantly said, “I’m afraid I do not, Lord Llyr.”

“To kill the shifters, of course,” Viktor said. “How else would our ancestor know who to destroy? These mirrors were fabricated with the intent of seeing beneath a shifter’s skin. To know who their powers hid. Criminals, assassins, all of them.”

The male stared at Viktor for a heavy moment. “I’m sure those are just stories, my Lord,” he said softly, but his voice showed his uncertainty as much as his wobbly smile did.

Viktor paused, and then said, “Stories come and go, indeed, my friend. Perhaps you are right.” He smiled easily, then bowed his head. “Magical or not, it is a beautiful heirloom. It will give a marvellous touch to my parlour. I will wish to acquire it.”

“Oh, thank you, my Lord.”

With the mirror safely in his pocket, Viktor Vanserra walked out of the market in bouncy steps. The morning showed few clouds and a little drizzle, but none the matter. Soon, Hylas would storm the castle, and catch their little Princess unaware.

Hylas had served as a good spy over those months. Loyal and ruthless. Trustworthy and competent. Very few displayed such traits. It had been a shame what happened to Ragana in the mountains, and of course, how his other pretty little spy had been torn to pieces by Eva Ashryver. But, nonetheless. It would all serve as a great reminder of what shifters and half-breeds were.

_Murderers_.

A blight on this once great land.

While the army tried to follow his non-existent footsteps, while everyone chased their tails, little Eva would be left with little protection in the castle she deemed safe.

It was time to strike.

***

Luna opened her eyes.

Drizzle fell over her cheeks. Her leathers felt already soaked, as if she had stood there for an hour, instead of a few seconds.

Her gasp echoed.

The forest felt cold, the green so dark it was almost ink-black. Pine needles under her boots snapped and cracked as she took a few steps forward – and then around herself.

“Atarah?” She whispered, but the forest did not respond.

No one did.

***

It was luck.

It was pure, sheer luck.

She almost couldn’t believe it as Oren burst down the door to the house, and they were met with morning sun shying away behind clouds of dark grey, mist drifting over their feet like snakes. Atarah could not believe she was breathing fresh air, feeling the cold moisture of the early day on her skin, hear the birds in the trees clap their wings to rid themselves of the drizzle.

Oren was careful in squeezing her bloody hand.

They did not linger to listen.

They simply _ran_.

She knew there were no horses on sight, but even if there were, they could waste no time looking for them – as if in a silent agreement, both of them fought the ache in their lungs, in their muscles, and took off into the woods. And while Oren ran beside her, safe, breathing, eyes wide open, and while she stared in front of her seeing wild trees of green and mossy, muddy ground, Atarah thought, _I don’t know where we are,_ she thought, _I don’t know how we’re going to make it,_ she breathed in, _but we have to try we have to try I have to try I have to-_

First, hiding their scent.

The first river they came across, they dived in.

The cold was refreshing, not paralysing – the pricking of needles and the brush of slippery rocks against her skin said _I am alive. I am alive. We are okay._ It was a reminder that this was real. She was not caged anymore.

She was a bird taking flight.

After they surfaced, Oren stared at her in the water. They could not waste time – Vanserra would come back any minute, from whichever way, and he would find his door broken down, that house in the middle of nowhere almost destroyed as they’d clawed their way out, and Hylas dead, and he’d know – he’d come looking for them. Others might come, they didn’t know.

But in that second, as Oren looked at her, his pine-green eyes clear against the dark trees, Atarah only swam to him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as if on instinct – as if she needed to know that he was real, and that he hadn’t been killed.

He held her to his chest, a hand on the back of her head.

The blood on her skin drifted away. Her hands began to heal.

Atarah could still feel the pain of the poison in her veins, weakening her. It wouldn’t kill her, at least she didn’t think it would, but it still felt like lightening strikes inside her. Like she was full of electricity.

They held each other there.

Atarah allowed herself to wait a moment, just a moment, just until the blood was off her, just until she could remind herself that they had made it out.

“Come,” Oren said hoarsely, pulling her out of the water. Their scent would be lost there, and now it was up to them to gain distance.

Oren waited a moment, his head snapping from side to side, listening. Atarah’s eyes skimmed his chest and her stomach turned – two lines of red ran down, his shirt ripped and ruined, as if he’d crashed into the bars multiple times, trying to bring them down.

Another sob came out of her.

He snapped his head to her, and without hesitance, touched her cheeks, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s okay,” he repeated to her, thumb brushing her falling tears. “Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.”

She did. She tried. Her heart was thunder, her veins were lightning.

She’d _killed_ someone.

“We’re going to fine, okay?” He whispered to her, as a morning breeze blew past them, swaying the ripped fabric of her nightgown, pulling his hair in front of his eyes. “We have to hide, Atarah.”

Her mind screamed at her to move.

Her legs were shaking.

“Okay,” she repeated, though no sound came. Her mouth only formed the word.

Oren’s eyes lowered to her shaking hands, and something like hatred and anger crossed his eyes. “Come,” he said again, his tone gentle despite his body language.

They ran through the woods faster than hawks chasing prey.

Her mind swirled. They couldn’t be far from Terrasen.

“Mountains,” she murmured as they came to a stop to rest.

Oren panted hard, bracing his hands on his knees, and lowering his head as if he might be ill. “W-What?”

“We need to look for the Staghorn Mountains,” Atarah said, catching her breath. Her hair curled around her face, and she pushed it back. Both of them looked around the forest, only seeing a deep sea of green and brown. The forest was too dense. Atarah’s eyes skimmed the high trees, staring at their peaks. She decided, “I’m going to climb.”

“Wait,” Oren said, touching her arm. “You’re in no condition.”

“And _you_ are?” She said, and then realized, as Oren stepped back, how harsh her voice had sounded. But seven hells – this wasn’t a time for pleasantries. “We can’t just keep running, Oren. We need to go back to Orynth, and warn the Queen. If we keep going, we might be headed farther from home.”

He watched her, knowing her words made sense, but not wishing to encourage her madness. He said, as gently as he could. “I… can shift. Wait. Let me catch my breath.”

“You have a second form?” Atarah asked, halfway into a climbing position, holding on to the branch. When Oren nodded, she said, “You’ll fall.”

He said, “I won’t fall.”

Atarah stared at him up and down. “You look two seconds away from passing out. You’ll _fall_.”

But Oren was already stepping back.

“So are you,” he said.

“Oren-“

But he barely let her finish his name – Oren curved in on himself, and then, before her eyes, a grey falcon soared upwards, its beating wings pushing past heavy leaves, avoiding branches.

“Oren,” she snarled, stomping her foot. Worry lived in the furrow of her brow, in the crease of her mouth as Atarah looked up, as Oren disappeared from her sight.

***

Naza waited the whole the night.

The whole _entire_ night, mind you.

Or it certainly felt like it.

Hours later, she pulled herself up, gritted her teeth, and walked to the back garden, sitting down on the stone bench and drenching in the cold wind, kissing her cheeks.

“When you come back,” she swore, imagining dragging Seren through the ground, and kicking Aidan off the roof. “I’ll kill both of you.”

Not even two minutes later, powerful wings were seen soaring in the night sky. Naza sat there watching, her foot drumming on a rock, her arms crossing over her chest.

The youngest Archeron was back.

He soared above the house, then slowly made his descent, stepping into the garden where Naza sat. Once on the ground, he folded his wings behind him, and before Naza could utter a word-

She halted.

Seeing the expression on his face.

And then she understood. Aidan didn’t need to say a single word.

He walked to her, his blue eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. There was anger in him, she noticed, but something worse than that – there was an incredible sadness. Exhaustion, too, as Aidan sat down on the bench next to her, letting his head fall in his hands.

Naza’s heart hurt for him.

All her anger, all her waiting around for them, lying for them, was thrown out of her mind. As gently as she could, she said, “Aidan, I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “So am I.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” Naza murmured. When Aidan’s eyes turned to her, she clicked her tongue. “I know that’s the worse thing I can say to you right now, but you know it’s true.”

“She knows, Naza.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“She knows,” Aidan whispered, turning his gaze to the roses in front of him, lining the garden. “And I just left.”

“You told a human what you were?”

“Worse – I showed her.” A pause. “Did you know mermaids live in that human world, too? Yes, they do. Must have slipped in somehow, I don’t fucking know. One almost killed her tonight. Must have smelled me on her.”

Naza stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth opened.

Aidan said, his eyes unfocused, “It was either letting the creature drag my mate into the sea and make her its meal or-”

Her cousin sniffed, shaking his head. “Anyway,” he said, “it’s over. I left. I scared the shit out of her. You should have seen her face.” Aidan ran a hand down his face, his eyes hollow, his face colourless. “She looked at me like I was worse than her worst nightmare.”

“Don’t say that,” she tried.

“It’s true, you weren’t there,” Aidan said, finally turning to look at his cousin. “I frightened her. She will have to live with this for the rest of her life.”

A long, long silence. Aidan breathed in the night air, and lowered his head again. “What hurts the most is not what it was,” he said softly, as if speaking to himself. “The mating bond doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day, you know? I’d always feel a connection to her, but I didn’t love her. I didn’t know her well enough to love her.” An anguished pause. “ _Yet_. That’s what’s killing me: it’s that I felt like I could have. With time. What kills me the most is what _could have been_ , and will never be. I didn’t have any fucking time.”

Naza let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes momentarily. “Aidan…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “It’s fine.”

She turned her eyes to the horizon. “Dawn will rise soon. Turn the page, alright? Try.”

Aidan only nodded. There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do. So after a while, after that heavy silence had fallen over them both for a good few minutes, Aidan said at last, “Where’s my brother at?”

Naza snapped her eyes to him. “I thought you’d know.” She shook her head. “Your parents have already left with the court to Spring. I managed to tell them a half-assed excused as to why your brother wasn’t there. By the way, your mother is for sure onto you.”

“I know.”

“Do you think Luna came here and they took off?” Naza said. “His scent was still fresh when I came in, but hers wasn’t anywhere.”

“Well,” Aidan shrugged. “He couldn’t have gotten to her by himself. Perhaps she was here and you didn’t recognize her scent.”

Naza sighed again. “You both need to tell Feyre and Rhys.”

“I know,” he repeated, and gently patted her hand. “Thanks for lying for us.”

“Yes, well,” Naza said. “I expect payment fast. _With_ interest. For all the headaches you give me.

“I’ll buy you all the boots you’ll lay your eyes on.”

“That’s why you’re my favourite Archeron.”

Aidan smiled – but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re going to a funeral tomorrow,” he mused, “and I’m the one that feels like I’m already buried.”

“It has to pass,” Naza said, “with time. I’m not saying it will be easy. But having no other choice might push you to move on.”

“I think you’re right,” Aidan said, sighing softly. Then he stood, and gave Naza his hand. “Come on. I think flying around for a bit will do me good. It will be better than waiting for my brother to come back, at least.”

“Race you?” She said, taking his hand.

Aidan breathed an exhausted laugh. “No,” he looked to the skies. “I’m already done losing for tonight.”

***

Oren sat atop the tree, adjusting his eyes to the light.

His wings shook off the drizzle, and he lifted his beak into the air, looking side to side. Oren’s mind evoked the map of Erilea, and despite the mist around them, slowly rising, and the low, dark clouds up north, he could recognize Perranth Mountains in the horizon. He was facing Wendlyn.

Oren turned north, narrowing his eyes – there, surrounded by green and white mountain-peaks-

The Staghorn Mountains.

Heart thundering, Oren pushed past the dense, sticky leaves, and jumped from the branch, his grey wings spreading for a descent. With the little bit of energy he had left, Oren allowed the breeze to help him find Atarah again.

He plummeted to the ground, and shifted in the same second.

A wave of dizziness made him lean against the bark of the tree, and slump down. For half a second, Oren lost all sense of everything – his vision went dark, his stomach churned, and his foggy mind made his body feel as if it might be hovering in mid-air, or floating above water.

Then a pair of warm hands were touching his cheeks.

Atarah lifted his head to her, her dark eyes searching his own.

This close, he could see all the colours in her eyes. The lighter ones, mixing with the darker tones. She had beautiful eyes. Beautiful everything.

She was speaking to him.

“I told you not to go,” she whispered, sounding right in the middle of angry and frightened. “Oren?”

He licked his dry lips, and sighed softly, closing his eyes for just one second, before blinking up at her. “I’m fine,” he said, convincing himself of just that. His hand touched hers in reassurance, and a shock of glee shot through his bones. Unexpected, exhilarating.

He pushed it away.

“Okay,” she whispered back.

“We’re somewhere between Rosamel and… Allsbreak.”

“You mean Allsbrook?” She asked, brows furrowing.

He managed a slow grin. “Geography was always a little difficult.”

“I think you’re just on the brink of exhaustion,” Atarah said, brushing his hair off his eyes in a tender gesture that left him stuttering on the inside. “But this is good. We’re not too far. We can distance ourselves enough today, and make camp once we pass Allsbrook.”

“Atarah,” Oren blurted out before she could stand.

She hesitated, then halted, looking at him. “Are you unwell?”

“How did you escape.”

Atarah lowered her eyes to the scratches of the poison on his chest. Her hands were still bloody. She breathed in, and shakily said, “I killed Hylas. Beckoned him close and-” She paused, jaw clenching, her eyes closing. She shook her head. “I killed him. Stole the key.”

Oren’s heart gave out.

Atarah stared at him then, and seemed to flinch at whatever she saw on his face. Did she, perhaps, thought him frightened of her? Shocked?

She stood, but Oren stood with her, ignoring all the dizziness that overcame him then. One hand on the bark, another reaching towards her wrist, he said, loud and clear, “You did well.”

She blinked up at him.

“I know it doesn’t help,” Oren whispered. “The remorse stays with you, no matter what. But you did well. You survived. You got us both out, Atarah.”

Atarah swallowed hard, tears forming in her eyes. “Have you ever killed someone before, Oren?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “But my mother… was forced to.” A pause. “When she was pregnant with my oldest brother, a male tried to… hurt her. It was either her or him. She made the call. Still lives with it until this very day, but she wouldn’t go back.”

Atarah stared at him for a long second, and something in his heart shattered at the look of heartbreak she gave him.

“I’m so sorry you had to,” he said.

She sniffed, and looked to the ground. Nodding once, and without pulling his hand away from her wrist, Atarah whispered, “Point us in the right way. We should go.”

***

Aran walked into the tavern with three guards blending into the crowd. Even as he sat at the bar, feigning an expression of boredom, it took a lot of concentration to keep his eyes and hair the colours he’d chosen to blend in. No longer his dark locks – but gentle curls of gold framing his face. No longer his mother’s green eyes, but a rich, dark brown that could make any willing lady and any consenting sir fall madly in love with him.

Alas.

There was work to be done.

Aran sipped his drink and leaned back in the stool, as if appreciating the views. He received a few suggestive stares, but his face was partly hidden from his riding hood. He doubted he’d be recognizable even if he wasn’t hiding his features.

Then his eyes strayed to the far door behind the bar, and Aran’s gaze travelled slowly, discreetly, over the owner’s hunky shoulders, to capture the movement of a shadowed figure leaving the tavern. Before the door shut fully, Aran saw the edge of cards spilled over a table.

He smiled into his cup, paid the owner three copper coins, and after waiting three extra seconds, he moved.

His guards followed him at a distance. That was the downside of all of this. But he couldn’t prevent it. Aran checked if his sword was still tightly strapped to his waist, ready to use if need, then, for good measure, he trailed his sly fingers over the two knives on the inside his sleeves. Mist covered the streets like mud over the cobblestones, and Aran’s feet were as silent as a cat’s as he followed the shadow.

Aran had to give him a little bit of credit – even drunk as he was, he was sly, and quick. Too bad he still hadn’t noticed the Lord of Caraverre following him.

And too bad Aran was way too fast for him to see it coming.

The pouch of coins he grasped in his hand was easy to swipe, just as easy as it was to move with the wind, quick as lightning, twirling around the shadow, before the shadow could even take notice of him leaning against the brick wall, weighing the pouch of coins in his hand.

The shadow slithered to a stop and the hooded figure stared at Aran with both shock and rage – and then, only frustration.

“Your Highness,” it drawled.

Aran smiled a cat’s smile, and allowed his own hood to come off. He let the rope of his powers go, and he felt his hair change back to its natural colour, then his eyes losing their richness, becoming clear, flashing like a predator’s against the grey-coloured world.

“It’s just Lord now,” Aran told him. The three guards stopped behind them, within ear-shot.

The shadow raised its ink-black brows. “You rescinded your title?”

“I have,” Aran nodded, toying with the pouch of coins. “My sister fits the title better, I think. I’d rather just have my home and less the responsibility.”

“Humbling.”

Aran smiled slightly, staring at those grey eyes. “Nice to see you again, Alric.”

***

Sage found them a couple of spare rooms in the inn Aran had pointed her to, and while the guards stood watch outside, inside, and in the room next door, Aran and Alric sat by the fire of Aran’s room, their hoods off.

Aran watched as Alric placed the pouch in the pocket of his hood.

“I never took you for a gambler,” Aran mused.

“I’m not a gambler,” Alric muttered. “Just on Saturdays.”

Aran breathed a laugh. “What are you on the other days?”

Alric’s silver eyes skimmed Aran from head to toe. Clicking his tongue, Alric said, “ _Annoyed_.”

They’d met once or twice, and spoke less than that. Alric was as much of a shadow inside the halls of Orynth as he was outside of them, but on the few occasions that they’d crossed paths – mainly when Aelin had business to attend to with her spies and Aran happened to be visiting, or when she threw one of her lavish parties – Aran hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him. Even now, sitting with him on the floor of that dusty inn, trying to get warm by the fire, Aran couldn’t ignore the pull towards Alric. The tension between them could cut through glass.

But that’s the thing about feeling stupidly attracted to a spy – they slip right through your fingers, without you being able to keep a hold on them for long enough.

“I guess I’m needed again?” Alric said, cocking his head to the side. “Why didn’t Aelin call personally?”

Aran sighed softly. “The letter could have easily been intercepted. Terrible things are happening, Alric.”

Alric frowned then, crossing his legs on the floor, making dust rise. As the flames crackled on, Alric murmured, “Tell me.”

So Aran did.

He told Alric everything, starting from the very beginning – from the moment his sister had come home with bloodied hands and teeth, Ragnar in her arms.

After he was finished, Alric only said, “Fucking shit.”

That seemed to sober him up.

“I know,” Aran said.

Alric paused, shaking his head to himself. “You hear these things, from time to time. Fae turning against humans, vice-versa, even Fae turning against Fae. Suspicion against Aelin and her court. But there has never been an uprising or anything like that, not since the war, not since I was born.” He sniffed, then turned his eyes to the flames, gaze narrowing. He said, “What do they want with Eva?”

“I think they want her in particular because of what she can do,” Aran said. “The theory is that this male is trying to destroy all shifters and… demi-Fae. Until a few years ago, no one knew what my sister was – my mother and father, even Aelin, made sure that it was not kept a secret, but it was kept on the down low, for her own safety. We knew there were small whisperings about shifters here and there. Old timers with old grudges. The world still doesn’t know that I can shift, too for that same reason.”

“I guess she confirmed it when she killed the female that tried to hurt Ragnar,” Alric noted.

“She had no other choice,” Aran murmured.

“I know,” Alric said.

“Do you think it could come to an uprising?”

Alric looked up at Aran, considering the question for a second longer. As the drizzle turned into pouring rain hitting the windows, Alric sighed, and said, “It’s not impossible. I can understand it, you know. From a human’s point of view. Your speed is a hundred times superior to mine. So is your strength. Your eyesight. Humans are allowed to be frightened. To remember how it used to be.” A pause, as Alric scratched his chin. A little dark stubble framed his face, and Aran couldn’t help but notice how much it suited him. “But pitying Fae against Fae who fall in love with humans… that’s not right. Treating shifters differently because of old grudges is not right. Aelin has seen that every human in this kingdom is protected and taken care of – perhaps that is what this Vanserra dude is butthurt about.”

“Thinking that humans don’t deserve the same care as Fae?”

“Yes,” Alric said. “Now, how that connects to his desire to target your sister in particular…”

“That’s what we need you for,” Aran murmured. “Rowan believes a guard infiltrated the castle, or perhaps he’d always been working there, and Vanserra bribed him or something, and he captured the Lady of Suria just so he could lead Eva or any of us to his lair.”

Alric was silent for a long time.

Aran got lost in the sound of the water hitting the glass windows, in the passing grey clouds. They had to move fast. The search of the Lady of Suria began that same morning, and if they lost more time looking in the wrong rabbit hole…

“Okay,” Alric said at last, nodding his head, gaze stuck to the flames. “I think I have enough to go on to try and find him and his minions. I’ll come back to Orynth with you just so I can speak to the Princes. Your father and Rowan Whitethorn might give me clues about that guard. Perhaps there are more in the palace who haven’t been found out.”

“You think you’ll manage?” Aran corrected himself quickly, “I mean, if it’s too much-”

Alric gave him a smile that might have put Aran down on his ass had he been standing. “I mean, you are asking the impossible, Prince. But I think I’ll manage.”

Aran said, “Don’t call me Prince. And if you’re second-guessing yourself, just remember who your father was.” Aran raised a brow. “I heard stories of Nox Owen. We all have. And I’ve seen you – you might be a hundred times worse than your father was. When you’re not tipsy, you’re a threat to any Fae.”

Alric’s smile widened, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. “In my nearly twenty-five years on this earth, I have never received such a charming compliment.”

“I promise to charm you better when I don’t have someone to kill.”

Alric’s eyes flashed as silver met green.

Aran lowered his head. “That came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

It was Aran’s turn to look at Alric. But before he could form any other response to that, Aran swallowed, and turned his eyes away. “Tea,” he said quietly.

“What?” Alric said.

But three seconds later, a knock was heard. The tea Aran had ordered was here.

Alric leaned back against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him. “I’ll never get used to that.”

“To what?”

“You,” Alric murmured, turning his eyes to the rain. “To you.”


	17. Chapter 17

Vaughan’s fist closed around the sword at his hip, almost shattering the golden hilt.

He stared at his daughter’s unmade, empty bed.

His throat closed. “No, Luna,” he choked out.

As if summoned by that pained whisper, Fenrys walked into the room, already in his leathers, his eyes wide in alarm as he stared at Vaughan’s tense back. As Fenrys halted in the doorway, he knew – his daughter had left. Her scent was still fresh, hovering in the middle of the room, not following any of the entrances.

Fenrys closed his eyes. “I should have known she would try to solve things on her own.”

Vaughan pushed past him, walking into the hall, where two guards awaited orders. “Was anyone else here?” He growled at them both.

Fenrys tried to place a comforting hand on Vaughan’s shoulder, but Vaughan shook him off.

The guards visibly flinched, and the oldest-looking one, a male with eyes of amber and honey who Vaughan had personally assigned for his daughter after her former’s guard’s death, swallowed hard, and murmured, “No, Sir.”

“You said my daughter walked into the garden last night, you were there,” Vaughan persisted, a dangerous tone to his voice.

“Yes, Sir,” the male said, tension in his jaw. “Lady Luna wished to visit her friend’s stone, Sir. That was before the tree fell in the-”

“You did not catch another scent here?”

“Vaughan…” Fenrys murmured from behind, but received no answer, no sign that Vaughan had cared to hear him.

The guard nodded his head once. “No, Sir. I promise, Sir. We escorted Lady Luna up to her rooms, and she did not leave for the entire night, nor did anyone else come in.”

“I’m not asking if someone came in. I am asking if there was anyone inside-“

“Hey,” Fenrys said, wrapping one arm around Vaughan’s middle before he could do something he’d regret. Fenrys looked up at the two guards and nodded curtly. “Wait in the parlour, please. Thank you.”

As they walked off, Fenrys pulled Vaughan to him, which took a considerable amount of strength. Vaughan breathed hard. “Our daughter-”

“Is fine, for now,” Fenrys said, as gently as he could. The worry kept his legs trembling, but he focused on Vaughan’s weary eyes. “Look at me.”

Vaughan did. Fenrys touched his cheeks, and said, “No one was there to hurt her. You caught her scent as I did. You know she left on her own accord.”

Vaughan swallowed. “She might have gone to _him_.”

They both paused, staring at each other.

Fenrys couldn’t avoid that possibility. He’d been weary of that story ever since he heard it – his daughter had never teleported herself to a place she hadn’t known before, and this strange place they still had no idea about could be miles and miles away. Worlds away, for all they knew. And the winged male she’d met-

“You know as well as I do that our daughter would not prioritize that over finding her friend,” Fenrys said, though he couldn’t imagine what worried him more: that Luna had gone on her own to find Atarah, or… gone to the strange world of the Night Court. “I’m frightened too,” he continued, “but I cannot say I’m surprised.”

Vaughan let out a long, heavy breath. “She takes after you. _Fuck_. Why did she have to take after you?”

Fenrys smiled sadly, a thumb running over Vaughan’s cheek. “Actually, she takes after her mother. She was… always risking herself. Until her very end.”

Vaughan looked up, touching Fenrys’ hand. “What do we do?”

Fenrys closed his eyes, and held on, burying his face on Vaughan’s neck. “We hope for the best,” he breathed.

***

Luna Moonbeam never wished she was a shifter more than at that moment.

As she stood in the middle of that forest, drizzle falling over her, she ached to sprout wings and fly high, high up in the clouds, beyond the trees, beyond the bushes and the tick leaves, so she would have a clear image of where in the seven hells she’d landed herself.

Her stomach turned as she took her first step in the muddy ground. Pine needles cracked underneath her boots. Somewhere, up above, a raven soared, looking for seeds and squirrels.

She couldn’t have been wrong.

She couldn’t have had it _this_ wrong.

Then again, what did she think? That she’d conveniently teleport herself into whatever hell hole Vanserra had hidden her friend? It didn’t work like that.

It never worked like that.

Perhaps the location hadn’t been precise, but perhaps it was not completely wrong. If she was Vanserra, where would she hide two hostages?

In the middle of a dense forest seemed like a highly probable choice.

So she moved, taking the path her instincts chose.

Luna did not need the ability to transform into a cat to walk in deadly, silent steps – though it would be an advantage.

Quickly, she dodged trees and needles and tiny little snakes that crossed her path. The forest got deeper and deeper as the seconds ticked by, and with the morning mist clouding her vision, Luna’s insides turned into a nervous pile of mush. Should she really be trusting her instincts when she had no idea where she could be, or where she should go?

There was no time to second guess herself.

_I can do this._

_I have to do this._

As she kept walking silently, a shadow in the mist, Luna debated her options in the back of her mind: the Terrasen woods looked almost identical, wherever you went. But if she were in Perranth, Luna knew that she’d be seeing mountainous peaks by now. Caraverre was all gentle plains and meadows filled with flower beds, so she threw away that option, too. Where could she be?

_Where are you, Atarah?_

Luna shut her eyes.

One, two, three.

That familiar ache in her bones, as if her body was being constricted into a tight little box, then flung out of a canon evaded her, and then she was sinking her boots in-

Water.

“Fuck.” She said, stepping out of the freezing river, shaking her boots dry with every step she took. Her body wobbled as she continued, but Luna paid no mind to it. Keep moving, _keep moving_. Take a breath, take a second to rest, and then one, two, three-

Eyes shut.

When she opened them again, Luna was standing in a clearing. She took in her surroundings quickly, one hand on the sash of knives around her waist to reassure herself, another on the hilt of the sword at her back, just in case. She was alone, her breaths coming out in pants, clouds of smoke disappearing above her head. Her hair fell out of her drenched braid, and Luna moved it out of her eyes in time to see the same river in the distance.

She hadn’t teleported far. 

Her body was getting weaker, and she knew she needed to save energy.

Houses were generally built near water. Vanserra needed to be close.

Luna tightened her hand around her favourite knife, and clenched her teeth. She would follow the river down.

Without a beat of hesitation, Luna kept walking.

***

“Oren,” Atarah murmured after a bit, touching his arm as gently as she could. “Oren, we need to stop.”

He kept walking, as if he hadn’t listened to her.

“Oren,” she persisted.

He halted then, his shoulders slumping as if the only thing holding him standing was an invisible string tied to the top of his spine. Oren slowly turned to her, blinking. “Were you speaking to me?”

Atarah swallowed hard, her chest aching with worry. “We’re far enough now to make camp. You can’t keep going like this. Let us stop.”

Oren shook his head, but Atarah watched his eyes – they were unfocused. He was minutes from passing out. He muttered, “No, we can’t. We haven’t reached Allsbrook yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, moving to stand in front of him. Her arms were held out slightly, for she expected him to fall to the side any minute now. “You need food, and water. And you need rest. Treatment, too.” Her eyes lowered to his chest – to the raging red lines that still hadn’t begun to heal. His body was not strong enough to protect him from the poison.

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head, turning to keep walking.

Atarah clenched her jaw. She rounded on him, and placed a hand over his chest, unfazed by getting blood on him. “ _You’re_ stopping.”

He almost walked into her until he felt her hand touch his skin, right over his collarbone. The sheer size of him, and the way he easily towered over her made her freeze for a second too long. Oren’s eyes flickered down, then back to her in surprise. “We’re not stopping because of me,” he said, tension growing in the lines of his pretty mouth.

“We are if I say so.”

Oren raised a brow at her. She could feel his frustration like it was her own. Atarah removed her scarred hand from his chest, bothered and unsettled by the warmth of him seeping through her. Her fingers closed into a fist, her skin prickling.

“I’m used to stubborn males,” she said to him. “I can tell you now you’re not going to win with me.”

Oren frowned. “We’re moving.”

Atarah placed herself in front of him, arms crossed. And when he tried to walk past her, she moved again. “I can dance all day,” she said tightly, chin raised.

“Be rational,” he gritted out. “We’re not stopping because of me.”

 _Damn him._ “ _I_ want to stop. I’m tired. I’m not feeling well.”

His face transformed. Now the tension in his jaw gained a whole different meaning as he stared down at her. His eyes softened, then creased with worry. “You should have said so.”

Atarah stood there, watching him in disbelief.

He took her wrist, being overly gentle because of her wounds – which didn’t escape her notice – and looked up. His nose in the air, Oren murmured, “Do you smell water?”

Her heart thundered in her chest as Atarah stared at his face. But then she forced herself to blink, and look away. “There,” he said softly. “We can make camp near the river. Come.”

***

“I think I know this river,” she whispered as they sat in the bank, watching the water stream down, slipping over the rocks. Salmon danced under the surface.

Oren looked at her. He was leaning against an overhang, his trousers folded to his knees and his ankles in the cold water, and though his eyes still looked close to fluttering shut, his face had gained some of its colour. _Some_.

His skin still had a grey tinge to it, and Atarah was certain she wasn’t looking any better.

“You do?”

“From all those days staring at maps, attempting to memorize them,” Atarah continued, speaking quietly, even if it was very unlikely for anyone to find them here, hidden as they were between thick bushes. “It’s called Acheron. After an old myth. It is said Acheron is the river blessed by the god of the underworld.”

Oren watched her for a moment. Gently, his voice a croak, he asked her, “How are you coping? Really?”

Atarah took a while to answer. Her fingertips brushed the wet grass, her eyes faraway. When she finally found her voice, Atarah felt ashamed at how small it sounded, even to her own ears. “I don’t know.” Her fingers tightened on the grass, and without meaning to, she ripped it from the earth. Atarah’s eyes wandered to her hand. The same hand that killed Hylas. Her wounds were starting to heal, and new tissue was already growing, but Atarah knew that the scars wouldn’t fade. “I don’t think he was always a terrible male.”

“Hylas?”

She nodded. “I know it was the only way to get us out, but I still wish… I could have any other choice.” Oren took a breath, and his lips parted, but before he could utter a word, Atarah continued, “Your chest needs to be bandaged. The wound is not healing and it might get infected.”

“Atarah,” he said, but she was already moving.

Oren watched her in desolate silence as she stood in the river, the water up to her knees. Atarah looked down at herself, and paused. If they weren’t running for their lives, she may have felt too exposed with her ripped nightgown, but considering the state they were in and everything she’d been through, the thought barely crossed her mind before she shrugged it off. She threw a glance over at Oren’s ripped shirt. “Are you cold?”

“Sorry?”

“If I ask you for your shirt, will you be cold without it?”

Oren blinked once, as if in a daze, and then he muttered, “No, I’m boiling.”

Without her needing to ask, Oren stripped of his ruined shirt, and Atarah grimaced at the raging lines on his skin. _He must be in terrible pain_ , she thought. She reckoned Oren refused to show it so he wouldn’t worry her further. But Atarah was worried all the same.

She ripped the fabric in two parts. She watched them both carefully in the river, rubbing the blood and the sweat and the dirt on the rough stones. Under his watchful gaze, Atarah did not feel bothered, which was unlike her.

At Court, her heart always hammered in her chest whenever she found people’s curious eyes watching her. Courtiers loved their gossip, after all, and Atarah gave them no food for thought. None at all. That frustrated them. Once or twice, she’d heard whispers about her person that were entirely made-up and borderline evil, and ever since then, she’d been much more reserved whenever she was invited over to Orynth’s lavish parties.

Of course, she hadn’t opened her mouth to Luna.

Her friend would insist on taking quick action, and Atarah had a strict policy that said she refused to allow herself to care about rumours or other people’s wrong opinions about her. It was a great philosophy to have – but the stares still irked her.

His did not.

They’d helped each other, after all, Atarah reminded herself. Traumatic experiences always bonded people together, so it wouldn’t be out of this world to feel a closeness to Oren in that regard.

Would it?

When the fabric was as clean as she could get it, Atarah walked back to Oren and sat next to him. He looked very taken aback.

Atarah hesitated. “Do you mind?”

“What about your hands?” He frowned.

“They’re healing.” She showed him.

He took her hand in his slowly, inspecting it closely. Atarah’s breath was cut short as Oren ran his finger along the main scar, over her thumb. He clenched his jaw, “I know it’s wrong,” he whispered, “but I’m glad he’s gone.”

Atarah swallowed hard, gently removing her hand from his. When Oren looked up, she reminded him, “Vanserra walks free. The people who he hurt deserve justice, and they will get it.” A pause. “Now, let me look at your wounds.”

Oren looked ready to protest, but all Atarah had to do was raise her eyes to his. With softening eyes, and a gentle sigh, Oren finally nodded.

He remained leaning against that overhang. Hesitating, Atarah sat by his hip, facing him, her legs folded underneath her. One of the shredded fabrics she used to clean the blood on his chest, as carefully as she could, though some of it had already dried off, and she had to go back to the water to soak the fabric once or twice to get him all cleaned up. For all his stubbornness, Oren allowed her to tend to him without another word of _I’m fine_ , and _It’s not worth it._

Atarah worked in silence, grateful for the distraction. Though it was difficult to keep her thoughts steady, and not let herself think too much about Oren’s slow breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his skin glistened as she drew the fabric in gentle circles-

_Goddess_ , she said to herself, _get a grip_. Was it that bad that she had to narrow all her attention into the one good thing in front of her?

_Gods’ sakes._

“Atarah,” he said gently. She really wished he wouldn’t use that tone with her – those knees of her already had a hard time standing on their own as it were.

“Yes.”

She reached over his legs, dabbing the fabric in the water one more time. Squeezing it, Atarah turned her eyes to Oren, waiting for him to speak. He looked-

Bothered.

He looked like the words were twisting inside his chest, knotting together to the point where he couldn’t even talk.

“What’s happened?” She asked.

He lowered his eyes to her hands, and breathed in once. “Vanserra talked to me.”

Atarah watched him carefully.

Oren was quick to say, “I told him nothing. I mean, I didn’t even have anything to tell him.” He shook his head. “Atarah, he might have been provoking me, or messing with my head, but…” he looked up. “Vanserra said you were my mate.”

Atarah’s hands stopped.

She thought her heart might have, too.

“Did he,” she murmured.

“I think it might be his ability,” Oren said, shaking his head once again, as if wanting to shake the words off him, wanting to shake the image of Vanserra’s smile off him.

Atarah sat back on her heels and took a breath. “And do you think he was lying?”

Oren was silent for so long that she dared to look at him. His gaze searched her own. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a possibility that he was just tormenting you,” Atarah said, as calmly as she could, even if all her bearings had just been scattered on the grass. “Or it could be true.”

“You’re relatively calm.”

Atarah blinked. “After everything, the possibility of you being my mate doesn’t seem that much reason for me to panic, Oren.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I just… I don’t think I’m processing much right now. But I’m glad you told me.” She took his hand in hers, marvelling at the rough softness of him. She said, just as softly, her voice breaking slightly, “I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? In a strange way. What were the odds of me finding you that afternoon on your way to Orynth?”

“And saving my life in the process,” he reminded her.

Atarah smiled slightly, a little breathy sound falling from her lips.

“Even now,” Oren murmured, his thumb tracing her own. “You could have left on your own, but you decided to face whatever could be lurking in that underground just so save me, wasting time to save yourself. You opened your cage and knew you wouldn’t go anywhere without opening mine, too.” He paused, matching her small smile. “I know you’d do that for everyone in the same position – but thank you, again.”

Atarah squeezed his hand, her heart in shambles. “If you really are my mate, then I am glad. To know you would be an honour.”

He began to shake his head, but Atarah continued, “You risked your life to go to Aelin, to tell her of Vanserra, didn’t you? You knew.”

Oren didn’t let go of her hand as he said, “I overheard a conversation between two males back in Doranelle – I’m from a small village on the northern coastline. When I tried to catch them, they were already gone – disguising their scent somehow. I knew the only way to warn Aelin was to go to Orynth personally. If this threat roamed Doranelle, then…” Oren trailed off. “I reckon he has a handful of people working for him. People that match his beliefs that demi-Fae and shifters need to die in order to create a better world.”

Atarah shuddered. “He gave me that speech, too.”

Oren’s thumb stopped over her scar. “For all its worth, Atarah, it would be an honour – to have you as a mate.”

Atarah stared at him, her blood warming, her cheeks scalding. _Get a grip._ Atarah had no right to think of him like that, in this state, in the middle of nowhere, running for their lives. Who knew, if he had a girl or a boy at home? Who knew, perhaps he wanted nothing to do with her, and he was simply being nice. Again - she had no business pondering that possibility right now.

Then again, Oren had no business looking at her with those eyes.

“Does the thought upset you?” He whispered, like he was afraid of her answer.

“No,” she said truthfully, looking away. “I just-”

“You have someone.”

“Bold of you to assume such a thing,” she said, eyes narrowing.

Oren, despite himself, despite everything, gave her a little smile. It was a smile that she could imagine him giving her whenever he was about to do something mischievous at heart. A smile he’d give her before pulling her into his arms and whisper wonderful things in her ear.

_Stop. Stop it._

He was clearly trying to lighten the mood. To make her smile. To ease the situation.

_Think about where you are, what’s at stake._

But she yearned for his playfulness. The image of Oren’s wobbly knees and swaying body and ash-coloured skin made her sick to her stomach. She would take any of his smiles, even if they were provoking her in the most shameless of ways.

He said, “Do you?”

“You don’t ask a lady such things.”

“That’s right,” Oren said softly. “You’re a Lady – that is what the healer called you.”

Atarah clicked her tongue, shaking her head, and promptly going back to cleaning his scratches. She refused to admit that the loss of his hand on hers made her heart ache. She said, “My parents own the land. My mother’s Lady of Suria, I’m just her daughter.”

“You’re not just a daughter.”

Atarah looked at him between her lashes. “You said you were from Doranelle.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“I am,” she said, mouth twisting into a slow smile to match his. “Tell me about it.”

“My parents are farmers,” Oren said. “That land is all I have ever known.”

“You must miss it – and miss them.”

Oren lowered his eyes, “I do.”

Atarah sighed softly. “We’re going home, Oren. I don’t know how, or when, but we’re going home.”

“I know,” he said softly, and his smile was as truthful as his words. He believed her. He believed in her. “I know we are.”

Atarah swallowed hard, feeling tears prickling behind her eyes. She refused to let them show, and instead grabbed the other clean fabric, and said to him, “Tell me about your family. Please.”

Oren watched her, and did not hesitate as he began to softly speak. He needed that distraction as much as she did. “When they took me in, they already had two sons.”

Atarah raised her eyes at this.

Oren murmured, “My birth mother passed away very soon after I was born, for reasons that are still unknown to me. I guess my father refused me – I never knew him. I was still a screeching babe when I was taken to my parents’ farm.” Oren raised his arms at Atarah’s instructions, as she swung the fabric around him, and began fastening at the front of his wounds carefully. He continued, “They told me when I was five years of age, though I’d already suspected something along those lines. I look very different from all of them.” He gave a little smile at this. “But they never made me feel like I was different. I’m as much their son as the rest of their children. And by the Gods, they _are_ my parents. My true family.”

At hearing this, she paused for a single second. “Oren, that’s beautiful.”

He smiled at her, a true smile, and for a moment, they both forgot they were in danger, and that they’d almost lost their lives and each other, and that there were things they needed to discuss that hung heavy between them, untold feelings and a strange, sizzling attraction. But right then and there, as Oren smiled at her, Atarah forgot all of those things, and it was just that moment, and that one moment alone, that mattered. She breathed, “Goddess bless both of your parents for all the good things they brought you.”

“Indeed,” Oren said, then grunted softly as Atarah tightened the fabric around his chest. “I shudder to think what kind of male I would have become if I hadn’t had them in my life.”

Atarah concentrated on the knots, shaking her head to get rid of the hair falling over her eyes. The humidity certainly did not help her case.

Oren gently raised a hand, hesitating just half a second, then brushing that fringe away from her eyes. Atarah’s heart stumbled over three beats, as she murmured, “Thank you.”

“What about you?” 

“Me?”

He smiled. “Who are you?”

Good question.

She was a daughter, a sister, a diplomat, a messenger, a friend.

She was many things, and many nothings. To sort through them was a task she wasn’t really up to at the moment. So Atarah simply said, “I’m just a girl from Suria that loves the sea, her family and her friends.”

“A very reserved girl from Suria.”

“Not reserved at all,” she said, struggling with that final knot. “I swear I’m much more interesting in a regular day,” she tried a light smile, but she reckoned it didn’t exactly reach her eyes, “when I’m not struggling to tie a knot or, you know, trying to keep us alive.”

“I don’t know, I mean, that’s a pretty good knot.”

Atarah sat back, looking at her work. “Don’t tease me,” she said, fighting a smile.

“I could never.”

“Liar,” she accused.

They watched each other in the quietness of the forest, and Atarah focused on the pine-green eyes, the strong features, the soft lips, just so her heart wouldn’t clench in her chest again as if someone had purposefully ripped her ribcage open to squeeze the vitality out of her.

“Oren,” she murmured. “I meant it. I know mates are rare, and that they can be anything. Whatever we might be, I’m just glad you’re here.”

Emotion swam in the depths of his eyes, a dark forest of their own. If she looked hard enough, she noticed some yellow streaks in them, like sunrays piercing through the trees. Oren whispered, “I’m glad you’re here, too.” He paused, watching her carefully. “When we’re safe-”

He didn’t have to finish his words. Atarah nodded. _Yes, yes, of course._

Her heart almost gave out when he smiled at her again. A tired, but proper smile. A smile that told her everything was going to be alright.

“You never answered my question.”

Atarah raised a brow. “That wasn’t a question, that was an assumption, and a very impolite one at that.” Her smile widened, and his didn’t falter. “There is no one.” His eyes sparkled at that, but Atarah refused to see too much into it. “What about you?”

“Why,” Oren said, gently nudging her leg with his. “What an impolite question.”

She scoffed, and his smile was wonderful, and her heart was bubbling, and despite everything she’d done, all the hurt and the trauma, Atarah still smiled with him.

That’s the thing, isn’t it?

You should always choose the ones that make you smile along with them no matter how much it might be raining.

It seemed uncomplicated.

Easy.

Like following wave patterns and tides, then looking up at the moon and knowing, _yes, of course, of course._

It hadn’t been just a coincidence that she’d found him. There’s always a pattern to the universe – and that had been hers. All her decision leading up to that day had been drawing her closer and closer to Oren. And although it brought them waves of pain, as she looked up at him, she knew.

Like it had always as obvious as the moon controlling the tides.

_Of course you are._

Oren watched her in that way of his, and in the silence, something snapped. Like a string freed from an instrument. A low drum far away.

Her heart sped up, as if – as if to match his.

That drumming – it wasn’t far away at all, it was right there, in front of her. His heart. That was the sound of his heart. Then hers – catching right up.

Oren seemed to notice too, for his eyes lowered to her collarbones, just to rise back to meet her eyes once more, confusion, and realization, and surprise, and wonder all mixing in one big, destructive, wonderful feeling.

Their hearts synched.

Atarah looked down at his own chest, as if she could see right through his own heart. Impulsively, she reached out, and-

Touched the place right above, her scarred hand and purpling bruises against his skin.

Oren was very still.

She wasn’t sure she was breathing.

Her lips designed a small, involuntary smile. Her heart settled down. It would never beat the same way again. They both knew it.

Oren’s hand brushed her own, and her fingers trembled slightly. His palm slid over the back of her hand, over her knuckles, his fingers settling between hers against his chest.

He said, “There is no one else.”

Her heart was in knots and her throat was, too. Oren removed his hand from hers, like he didn’t intend to push his luck, but allowed her to trace her fingers over that place. With a cloudy mind, Atarah’s hand drifted down to his bandage – a bitter reminder. A much-needed wake-up call.

 _Not now,_ she said to herself. _Do not think of it now._

_When we are safe._

Atarah pushed the fabric aside just slightly, looking down at his wounds. “You need to eat something. You’re not healing.”

Startled, blinking like he’d just opened his eyes to the sun, Oren watched Atarah as she pushed herself up, looking around. The moment was lost. “Where are you going?”

“I smell raspberries,” she said distractedly, eyes scanning the forest. “Stay here.”

“Let me come with you.”

“No,” Atarah said, halting her steps and watching him with eyes of a hawk. It made Oren sit back down immediately. “You’re noisy.”

Unexpectedly, he barked out a soft laugh. “I’m noisy?”

“Honestly, Oren,” she said, half-apologetic, half-amused. “You’re like a huge, huge bear on twenty-two bottles of red wine.” She reckoned that this would be a softer blow than _‘You’re not really in the best state to be walking around’._

Her heart was still shaken, and Atarah did her very best not to let it show as Oren’s brows began to descend in that stubborn way of his. “I can help.”

“You can stay there and be good.”

He looked at her for a second too long. Atarah was very much aware of how exposed she felt and how little that gaze bothered her.

_Ah, seven hells._

“You like to argue with me,” Oren said, a slow smile beginning to appear, showing teeth.

“Don’t look so pleased,” Atarah said, ignoring the warmth coming back on her cheeks at that smile or at the sight of those teeth. “I’m being serious. Stay. Please.”

At her words, he nodded, schooling his features. “Be careful. I know you will be. But just – please.”

Atarah touched his cheek gently, nodding once in thanks. And as her heart beat in her throat, she walked off, wondering through the woods with her wandering heart.

***

Seren had been staring at the windows of his chambers without seeing anything, licking his lips, hands tingling, heart collapsing. He’d been cherishing the memory of her, struggling to keep his worry at bay. And all these feelings froze him on the spot for a good half hour.

Then when he followed the scent drifting through his home – he found two pairs of eyes watching him from the garden.

Two pairs of very angry eyes.

“Ah,” Seren swore, clicking his tongue as his cousin and his brother glared at him. It all came back to him – Tamlin’s ceremony. His friend’s coronation. His parents most likely wondering where the fuck he was. “Shit.”

“Enjoyed your little vacation?” Aidan said from beside Naza.

“You’ve a right to be crossed,” Seren said, gaze jumping from one to the other. “But – Luna accidentally teleported me to her. It’s a long story, I-”

“You’ll explain on the way, surely,” Naza spat. “Right now, your parents are ready to skin you alive and you’ll have to come up with a pretty little explanation or else I’ll-“

“Wait, wait,” Aidan said, holding up a hand. “You said you… _she_ teleported _you_?”

Seren’s stupid smile came back.

Ah, Cauldron damn him.

“Hold the fuck up,” Naza said. “What’s that smile? Why’s he smiling?” She looked at Aidan. “What is the reason for that creepy ass smile?”

Aidan narrowed his eyes at his brother. “I don’t know… I don’t think I want to know,” he said to Naza.

Naza slowly turned her gaze back to Seren. “He looks so weird.”

“Do _I_ smile like that?” Aidan wondered.

“Not at all,” Naza said, like it was obvious. “You’ve your mother’s smile, thank the Cauldron.”

“I kissed her,” Seren whispered.

Silence.

“Say that again,” Naza muttered.

Seren worked his jaw. “You’ve gone deaf?”

“Uh, yes,” Naza snarled, “because I’ve been waiting here all damned night and I can still hear crickets replaying in my mind, so I’m sorry if my ears aren’t working that well.”

“Did you say you kissed Luna?” Aidan said, brows furrowed.

“Naz, I really am sorry,” Seren breathed, running a hand through his hair. “I… like I said, it’s a long story. But – yes, I did. She wants me.” Seren shook his head to himself. “She wants _me_.”

Seren didn’t see the look Naza and Aidan shared, nor the creases of worry on each their faces. He was lost in a world of his own, remembering how it felt to feel her smile against him, to feel her arms slung over his chest as she slept, to have her be the first thing he saw right as he woke up…

“Oh,” Aidan sighed, one hand on his forehead. “He’s in the mating bond honeymoon phase.”

“Why do you both look ready to cry?” Seren said, eyes finally focusing on them both.

Naza and Aidan looked at each other again, having one of their secret conversations. Seren rolled his eyes impatiently. He didn’t have to get into their minds to know what they were saying to each other: _Who’s going to tell him? You are, obviously. No, you are. No, you are. No way, you are._

“Look,” Naza began, sighing in exasperation. She held up her hands, “I’m going to be the one that’s going to speak, because I’m fine with being a dick, and also because I’m impartial, giving the fact that I, thank the Goddess and her marvellous tits, I don’t have a mate. So here goes:” She sucked in breath, then looked at Seren: “You need to be careful, and you know that, right?”

“Yes?”

“Wrong, you look like a puppy that’s been scratched behind its ears for the first time,” Naza said. “You do remember that this girl lives in a different fucking world, right?”

“She’s my mate.”

“That does not erase what I just said,” Naza said matter-of-factly.

“We have a clear path to each other,” Seren said, frustrated now. He could feel his blood begin to boil, even if he didn’t mean to. His brother and his cousin rejecting his mate so quickly made him… see red. And he knew that was partly the instincts he wasn’t doing a good job at controlling, but- did they really have to be this difficult?

“For now, you do,” Naza said. “We don’t know anything about their world. You heard aunt Elain’s visions.”

“Fuck’s sake, Naza,” Seren shouted. “Elain’s visions rarely come true. She once dreamt I cracked my head open on a boulder when I was a child – and here I am, _fine_.”

“Debatable,” Aidan chimed in.

“All I am saying is that it all might seem wonderful and colourful for both of you,” Naza said. “But you know how quickly things can change, Seren. Our parents fought long and hard to defend our home. The fact that someone can simply breach our defences like that,” a snap of her fingers, “without ripping to pieces is dangerous. Specially someone from another world. No one is ever supposed to be able to just winnow or teleport inside this court, Seren.” At Seren’s expression, Naza quickly added, “I’m not saying _your mate_ in particular is dangerous, you fucking lunatic. Stop thinking with your dick for one fucking moment, and think _clearly_. It is dangerous, Seren. Until we can know for sure that it is safe for that world to be connected to this one, you should be careful. And you should talk to Feyre and Rhysand about this, as well as the rest of our Court.” Naza rose, pacing around. “And she actually managed to teleport you? Her abilities are powerful, Seren. And powerful often equals dangerous. We cannot take chances, and you know it. Velaris needs to remain protected. If someone ill-intentioned discovers what your mate can do, what’s stopping them from using her and her abilities? Trespassing our world? If she can teleport you, and herself, she can easily transport an army-”

Seren began to growl, but even Aidan stared up at his cousin and timidly said, “That’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“Is it?” Naza snapped. “Is it really? Or are you biased?”

Aidan frowned. “María would hurt no one.”

“ _She_ wouldn’t.” Naza crossed her arms. “Imagine she randomly finds a portal. Imagine who she could bring along with her. Those humans might not be like our own, Aidan. What reason would they have to leave us be?”

“Naza,” Seren warned.

“You’re both so fucking blinded by this… magical, universe voodoo, that you don’t even _question_ anything.”

Seren’s wings began to flutter. He said, dangerously low, “Careful, cousin.”

“Don’t you dare to try to intimidate me with that,” she snarled, gesturing to his wings. “You know, deep down, that I’m right.”

At her first step towards Seren, Aidan quickly got between them, one hand wrapping around Naza’s wrist. “Calm down,” Aidan said, as gently as he could. He looked over at his brother. “Step back. Now.”

Seren eyed his cousin as if he’d challenge her.

But then he saw his brother’s eyes, and the plea in them, and he pushed past his pride. He backed down, and stepped away.

“We’re all a little tired,” Aidan said. “Let’s take a breather and talk like grown-ups.”

Naza’s eyes didn’t leave Seren’s. “I know you want her. But you have to consider every option. That’s what we were taught to do.”

“I can’t live like there’s always a war waiting to break out at my doorstep,” Seren barked.

“But that’s our world!” Naza shouted back.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aidan whispered to himself.

“It doesn’t have to be!” Seren raged.

“Get your head off the clouds, Seren,” Naza said. “Our job is to protect the Illyrians. Your people. Our people. We made a vow when we completed that blood rite. The ones shunned out, remember? The ones that were always put in danger, remember? Go ahead, be careless,” she gritted out. “Be the one to endanger them again.”

“Don’t you dare,” Seren growled, circling his cousin.

“Hey,” Aidan tried, but Naza slipped away from him and circled Seren, too.

Aidan knew this dance – and it never ended well. He stepped back for good measure, and sighed to the skies.

“I will not have you fault me for allowing myself to want the only thing I ever _dared_ to want in this life,” Seren said. “You have no right.”

“I have every right to tell you that you’re being reckless when you _are_ being reckless,” she said back, wings dangerously tense. “I’m not asking you to throw your mate away, I am asking you to deliberate, to consider the dangers you might face with her world. I am asking you to stop being a mindless little lovestruck child, and listen to the voice of reason for _once_.”

“I know what’s best for this Court.”

“Right now, you know what’s best for _you_!” Naza screamed.

“ _I_ will be the High Lord,” he growled. “ _I_ will make that call.”

Naza _flinched_. It was as if Seren had thrown a bucket of ice water over her.

Even Aidan’s eyes snapped to his brother.

Seren knew his mistake as soon as he opened his mouth, but he was too angry, too… tense, to admit it. He worked his jaw and lifted his chin.

“You prick,” Naza whispered. She stepped close to him, grabbed his tunic and yanked him down to her height. She said, “You will have this Court, but I will have your armies. If they see this version of their High Lord, do not doubt who they will side with if it comes down to it.” She let him go and pushed him off, and Seren almost went sprawling to the floor.

When he looked up, only shadows remained where she’d been.

The beating of wings became a distant sound as Seren stood there.

Aidan scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “She’s just worried about you, you know,” he said, his voice small. “You didn’t have to pull the High Lord card.”

“I know,” Seren murmured, looking away.

“That was a dick move.”

“I know.”

“You kind of deserved it, to be honest…”

“Aidan, I _know_.”

Aidan sighed softly, and shook his head. “Andras needs us right now. Can you imagine to push past the instincts for like, a few hours?”

“Yes,” Seren said, letting out a long breath, rubbing his eyes.

A pause. “I’m happy for you.”

Seren looked at his brother, as if seeing him for the first time. Seren swallowed hard. “How did it go for you?”

Aidan’s smile turned sad.

“Fuck, Aidan,” Seren said, pulling his brother in for a hug. All along, he’d been blind by what had happened the night before with Luna, that he’d failed to see what was right in front of him – his brother, attempting to hide how broken he truly felt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against his brother’s shoulders. “I needed to do better than this.”

Aidan held him tight, and though Seren recognized that his brother was not fine, Aidan did not give signs of breaking. “Get off me,” Aidan muttered, stepping back. “I’ve cried enough, don’t get me started again.”

A pause. Seren watched him carefully. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“I should tell you on the way,” Aidan said, looking away – towards the sky. “Mom and dad are expecting us in an hour.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

Another pause. “Are _you_?”

The Archeron brothers stared at one another. Then, slowly, they both nodded at each other.

“I know it’s the mating bond,” Aidan said. “I know it’s just the instincts making everything worse. In reality, it’s not that dramatic, really. It’s fine.” Seren watched Aidan spread his wings, his brother sounding as if he was convincing himself of the fact. “It’s fine.”

“Aidan,” Seren breathed.

But his brother had already taken off.

Sighing softly to himself, feeling indeed like the biggest prick on the planet, he spread his wings, and followed him.

***

Eva had gritted her teeth for so long her jaw muscles ached.

She looked over her shoulder for the tenth time that day and snarled softly.

“No use, Ashryver,” Ragnar Lochan sat idly on the couch, toying with a bookmark in one of his hands, passing it between his fingers repeatedly, and a book opened on his lap. He didn’t look up as he spoke. “The guards won’t let you out of this parlour. Will you?” He turned to look at the two guards guarding the huge double doors.

Ragnar received no answer.

With a snickering smile, Ragnar returned to his reading with a bored sigh.

Eldon said, “Evie, we have to keep our cool.”

Andrea rolled her eyes.

“Don’t,” Howlan said to his sister. “You know it’s to keep us safe.”

“It’s like we’re misbehaving children,” Eva said, stomping her foot as she glared out the window. As if she could see all the way to her parents, both searching for the Lady of Suria – and leaving her here.

Ragnar sighed. “Stop stomping your foot.”

“Stop talking to me,” Eva snapped.

“Are you both back to that?” Andrea drawled. She received two glares and flicked her middle finger as an answer to both.

“Blame Eldon,” Ragnar said. “If he hadn’t been almost killed, mother and father wouldn’t have made us stay.”

“This again?” Eldon said.

“Leave him alone,” Howlan said, his back sliding against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. “Don’t provoke him.”

“Elide and Lorcan did go mental when they saw his face,” Eva said. “Like, sure, it sucks that you were almost dead, Eldon, but we all get the blame because we knew and we hid that from them. That’s why Amara and Laelia got to go, and we’re stuck here.”

“Sucks that I was almost dead, she says,” Eldon laughed softly. Howlan looked up at him with a grin. “Why does that sound so funny?”

“I think we’re all a bit delirious from waiting,” Howlan said. “Maybe that’s why.”

“I’m not going to apologize for the hundredth time,” Eldon declared. “Fuck you all, except you, Andy, of course.”

“Aw,” said Andrea.

“Settle down now,” Ragnar said, snapping his eyes to Eva. “It’s not a grand adventure. It’s a searching party.”

Eva crossed her arms. “Isn’t the point of a searching party to _find_ missing or kidnapped people?” She stomped her foot, just because she knew it’d irk him. “Wouldn’t it help to have as _many_ people as possible searching?”

Ragnar paused, meeting her eyes. That intensity again, burning through her. “If they insisted that we stay, it wasn’t as a punishment, Ashryver. Ferran and Andrik are in Perranth doing what they can, and they have enough people here.”

“I can’t just sit around,” she snarled.

“And I can’t have you walking into a trap,” Ragnar snarled back, the words blurting out of him. And then-

Everybody’s eyes turned to him.

Ragnar realized the weight of his words then.

Eva turned her eyes away from him, staring out the window again in silence. She didn’t persist. Ragnar didn’t take his words back.

It was Andrea that finally broke the tense silence: “Hey, have you guys seen Luna today?”

***

She was tired.

Her body finally welcomed the well-earned exhaustion of teleporting herself countless times.

Luna didn’t stop.

She continued to follow the river, even if she hadn’t felt any progress being made after an hour. There was nothing but trees in sight, and at this point, as she stood resting against a tree, her head leaning back in the bark, her eyes turned to the sky, Luna truly began to worry that she was going the wrong way. There was every chance that she was drawing further and further away from Atarah.

And the greatest fear she could ever face – that she didn’t dare to face – Atarah could be dead. Luna could have landed here, because there hadn’t been a tether connecting her to Atarah, because her friend might have already been-

Luna closed her eyes shut for one single second, and pushed the thought from her mind.

Without hesitance, she began to walk again.

Or tried to.

The moment she took a step forward, Luna snapped her sword from its sheath at her back, and pointed it to the trees. The wind blew by her. She smelled blood. Sweat.

A male.

Luna’s breath hitched. The drizzle had stopped, but the mist had settled up to her knees. Her eyes traced the trees, and she moved slowly. Then – a needle snapped beneath her feet.

The male was too quick. 

He lunged at her, and Luna’s sword went flying off. 

She tumbled to the ground, his heavy body pushing her down.

***

The female growled at him, but Oren sank his fingers into her wrists, preventing her from reaching the knives at her waist. She was stronger than him, stronger than he expected – and he should have expected it – even if he wasn’t in that state of weakness, this female could have bested him any day.

What business did she have in this forest, fully armed, if not capture them? Who would be wondering here if not one of Vanserra’s little pawns?

The female with the long, golden braid barred her teeth at him and pushed him off. Literally _threw_ him across the forest. Oren went sprawling into rocks and dead grass, but he was quick on his feet, quick to attack, because now he wasn’t just defending himself, he was defending his-

“LUNA.”

The voice echoed through the trees, and it froze Oren and the female on the spot. Flocks of birds scurried away from their branches, startled by the sound. Then – the female completely ignored him, her eyes widening in realization. Oren stumbled into the tree, weak with the effort of holding himself up, confused that she would give up that easily, yet urging himself to move, to attack before-

Atarah had been speaking to the female. Oren knew this as she finally came into view, raspberries falling at her feet from her hands going slack.

“DON’T,” Atarah said as she ran to them, desperate tears in her eyes. “He’s my-“

The female dropped the knife she’d quickly pulled from her sash and ran to Atarah. Oren stiffened. But Atarah took the female in, and hugged her with a sob falling from her lips.

***

BONUS SCENE

(a week later…)

María held her heart in her hands.

The view before her was nothing like she’d ever seen before.

Mountains upon mountains followed the line up to the daunting horizon, the sun slowly hiding beneath the white peaks. The sky was two shades of blue darker. The colours looked too bright, too… vivid for her eyes. It hurt to look.

She was standing on a mountain.

There was laughter up ahead.

María sank into the stone, a trembling mess. No, no, what had she done?

Her heart fluttering, she turned to the stones, rising to touch them-

But they no longer moved.

They no longer looked… off.

They looked like… rocks.

Just rocks. Plain rocks. Non-magical rocks.

“No,” she whispered, sliding her hands down the stones. Her backpack slid off her shoulder slightly. “No.”

The silence suddenly became too loud, which was a contradiction that made the hair in the back of her neck rise. The faraway laughter she’d heard disappeared suddenly. Something terrible was about to happen.

A shadow grew beneath her feet. María looked down, and gasped.

_Please, let it be an animal._

_Let it be a huge, predatory animal._

_Anything would be better than-_

Slowly, she dared to turn.

And immediately swallowed down a scream as she realized what stood before her was not an animal.

It was a man.

No, not a man.

Something that looked like a man.

The strange clothing was something out of a bad fantasy novel. Something a problematic male protagonist would wear – dark tunic, dark trousers, an air of utter arrogance. Then her eyes met his and it all went to shit.

That clear gaze drew her in like a moth to flame.

María’s fear only grew. She recognized that that wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t like her. 

The man – thing – smiled at her and she stepped back immediately, her back hitting the rocks she’d come from with a thud. Her hands stayed behind her back, as if keeping touching the rock would make it work again and take her home, away from this nightmare.

Curls of golden hair fell over crystalline eyes.

The angel-like thing breathed a soft laugh, and then began to speak. Words fumbling over words, sounds that she’d never heard before but was inexplicably drawn to. A voice that had been orchestrated between strokes of a harp.

She understood one word that sounded much like one in her own tongue – _human_.

The man did not have wings like Aidan’s. He looked exceptionally ordinary – except ordinary was the last word she would ever use to describe him. His beauty did not seem real. There was something predatory about his gaze, and those sharp teeth…

Humans did not have teeth like that.

“Please,” she whispered.

The man cocked his head to the side, amused. He was not going to show pity. He was not going to spare her.

She was done for.

He approached her. His limbs were unusually long.

He said something else she didn’t understand, and his eyes searched every bit of her face. And then he took a step closer.

María moved before she could think.

The pepper spray she’d grabbed from her pocket slyly was not something he was expecting. She sprayed his eyes, and he stepped back, a growl – a literal growl – pushing past his lips. But before María could run the other way, a hand clasped around her throat so fast she was unable to see it coming. Light speed.

That strength.

It would enough to snap her neck.

He was going to snap her neck.

Her feet left the ground. María chocked, nails scratching at his hands, her eyes opening just a fraction to see the male’s eyes blood-red, his teeth barred.

No. No. _No._

Her last thought was of home.

***

The male had known something was going to happen the minute he saw those High Fae younglings laughing at the edge of Ramiel Mountain.

He stared on from his camp, gritting his teeth. That mountain was sacred. His people revered it. Protected it. Cherished it. And there they were – dancing around it like it was nothing but a senseless rock.

He wouldn’t stand by it.

His wife beat him to it.

Before he would think of taking flight, she was already walking past him, her small hands closed in fists, her feet stomping.

He followed her.

What they found there was nothing short of shocking.

One of them had a death grip on a girl. The male swooped past, noticing the way she dressed, catching her scent in the wind – human.

He barred his teeth, his wife beside him, and both of them dived in.

The male grabbed the young High Fae by the neck and pushed him off, while his wife ripped the girl from his arms, holding on to her carefully.

The male pushed the young High Fae against his little group of friends, that stared on in pure shock. They’d been watching from up above – what he was doing to that human girl. Malice had turned to fear in less than a minute.

“Away with you three,” the male barked, the talons of his wings facing them all.

The golden-haired one was the first to flee.

“Bet you wish you had wings now,” the male muttered, watching them go. 

“Fergus!”

Fergus looked down, and a few steps below, his wife held the human girl, limp in her arms. Her bag was disregarded on the floor. The male flew down, then got closer to examine the girl.

“Saskia,” Fergus said to his wife, “is she alive?”

“Barely,” Saskia said, checking the girl’s pulse. They both listened on, worry in their features. “What is she doing here?”

“She doesn’t look like she’s from the human lands,” Fergus muttered.

“No matter,” Saskia said softly. She picked up the girl, one hand behind her knees, and another carefully on her neck. “We’ve to bring her to camp now.”

Fergus’ worry worsened. “Saskia, we should warn-”

“There’s no time!” She said. “Come on.”

***

The girl kept breathing.

Inside her tent, Saskia watched her from the corner of the room, sniffing slightly. Her husband placed a hand over her shoulder gently, and Saskia leaned against that touch.

“She’s faring well,” Fergus reassured her.

Saskia stared at the purpling skin over the human girl’s neck and grimaced. “They bruise so quickly. Poor girl. Whatever did she do to cross them?”

“Probably nothing,” grumbled Fergus. “You know how that scum is.”

“Fergus,” Saskia muttered. “Language.”

“It’s true,” Fergus said, pushing his dark fringe out of his eyes. He was young enough not to have seen the wars, but old enough to have heard the stories. “Those same High Fae are the ones preaching about the violence in the Illyrian camps. They are the same ones calling us _barbarians_.”

Saskia sighed softly, like she’d heard this a million times before. She said, “Illyria is not perceived like that anymore.”

“My _most_ ,” Fergus said. “What about the rest?”

She had to agree.

“We know the truth about ourselves and our people,” she murmured. “That’s what matters.”

Fergus _tsked_ but didn’t argue. Much.

As the girl remained unconscious in her cot, Saskia looked up at her husband. “We have to notify them.”

Fergus sighed softly. 

“And we have to report them,” Saskia continued. “They almost killed the poor girl. Look at her state.”

“I know,” Fergus said softly. “At first light, I will talk to the Commander.”


	18. Chapter 18

She was dreaming.

She _must_ be dreaming.

How else would Atarah be wrapping her arms around her with so much strength that it squeezed Luna’s breath out of her lungs?

How else would have she found her friend?

Luna squeezed her right back, her eyes wide over Atarah’s shoulder, not believing what was happening.

She’d done it.

She’d found her.

But- but _how_ -?

Luan didn’t get a chance to ask, because a second later, Atarah was pulling out of her arms, choking over her words as she walked past Luna.

Luna understood one word. “Oren.”

_Oren_?

It was then that she saw him – truly saw him, still down on the ground, clutching at his chest, staring at them with a mix of confusion and awe. Atarah kneeled in front of him, and touched his cheeks.

Luna took a step back in surprise, looking on.

“Oren?” She whispered to herself, as Atarah raised his face to look at the damage.

Luna heard him mutter, “It’s fine.”

Atarah let out a breath of relief, and turned to look at Luna over her shoulder. The state of her nightgown, the bruised hands, the unbound hair and-

Luna approached them slowly as Atarah helped Oren up.

“Oren?” Luna said, peering at his face. And – indeed, the white hair, the brown skin, the clear, pine-green eyes… it was the male Atarah had carried into Orynth’s infirmary that very night.

Oren blinked at her, then frowned. His arm was slightly bent towards Atarah, as if he’d pull her closer or even behind him – a detail Luna did not fail to notice. An unquestionably _protective_ detail.

“You probably don’t remember Luna,” Atarah murmured to him, her face still showing signs of shock, mixing with relief and – even joy at seeing Luna. “You were pretty out of it that night.”

Oren’s face then transformed. It went from suspicion to understanding, then finally to guilt. “Luna,” he whispered. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

At Atarah’s blink, he explained, “I thought she was one of Vanserra’s pawns. I attacked her.”

Luna smiled slightly. “Well, I didn’t smell you on him, and I was too busy trying to get him off me to look at his face properly.” A pause, as her eyes dragged back to Oren. “Sorry I threw you across the forest.”

Unexpectedly, Oren let out a croaky laugh, his eyes shining. His body visibly relaxed. “You were in your right to do so.”

Atarah smiled at both of them.

Luna look in the small – very small – distance that separated them. Atarah’s protective stance. The way Oren’s eyes travelled over the planes of Atarah’s face, checking, always checking for some kind of… something. And then – Atarah’s hands, Oren’s bandaged chest, the red lines across their bodies that looked like burns. Luna bristled.

“I’ll explain everything,” Atarah said calmly.

“We need to get you home,” Luna said urgently, touching Atarah’s wrist. “Both of you.”

“No,” Atarah said, pulling her hand away from Luna before her friend could teleport. “Not in your state. Look at you.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Luna argued. “Look at _you_.”

Atarah’s eyes narrowed in a familiar way that showed nothing but pure annoyance. “Not you, too. Gods’ sakes.” She placed her hands on her hips, then winced, as the scars in her hands stretched. She said, “You’re taking two extra people, Luna, and I can see your body give in. Let’s get you rested for a few minutes, _then_ we’ll go.”

Luna’s gaze met hers for a long second. Atarah was always the voice of reason, always the sensible one of the two. Luna couldn’t imagine how she did it – even now, after everything she’s been through.

Still, Luna said, “How did you escape? You _did_ escape, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Atarah said. “Come. We won’t stay for long, or someone might catch our scent. Let’s hide by the river.”

Oren and Luna looked at each other then, as Atarah began to move. 

They did not know each other, but they shared one single thought in that moment: there would be absolutely no choice in the matter, and arguing would be of no use.

***

“Didn’t she go with Fenrys?” Eldon chimed in, gaze travelling over each person that sat in that parlour. “Luna was supposed to join the search, after all.”

Andrea frowned. “I…”

“What?” Ragnar said, tearing his eyes away from his book to look at his sister.

Andrea paused, her leg moving up and down in an anxious gesture. After a moment’s thought, she said, “It’s just that uncle Fenrys looked awfully tense, and we didn’t even see her at breakfast. You know, like we didn’t see Aran.”

Eva crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Yes, well,” she began, her tone bitter and low, “my twin gets to go on an adventure to search for the so-called best spy in the world – which he’s totally crushing on, by the way-”

“Called it,” Andrea said.

“Fuck,” Eldon rolled his eyes, and then came Howlan’s snickering laughter as he told Eldon, “Pay up, brother. I told you.”

“Aran’s good at searching and finding people,” Ragnar said, matter-of-factly, attempting to be the voice of reason, and only adding wood to the flames in Eva’s eyes. “It only makes sense to send them, if we can’t trust anyone else. Besides, he knows Alric. He knows his hiding places. Aran will get to him much quicker.”

“There are a thousand spies,” Eva said, exasperated.

“Just like there are a thousand guards,” Ragnar snapped. “So why do you want to get out there? In that logic, if they do not need your brother, then they do not need you, too.”

Eva’s mouth fell closed.

He got her there.

She lifted her nose in the air, and looked away.

“Alric’s good,” Andrea murmured, her eyes thoughtful and faraway. “And if we are right about Vanserra’s intentions, then… well, Alric’s human. Vanserra has nothing to fear from humans. That’ll be an advantage.”

“It’s just not fair,” Eva muttered.

“Say that one more time,” Ragnar drawled. “Just so it’s drilled into our heads once again.”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Eva spat.

Ragnar produced a smile that clearly meant, in all its shiny glory, spelled in sharp teeth: _You already have, sweetheart._

It’s as if Eva knew it, too, for her eyes flashed dangerously, and her hair changed to a darker hue as she stared at him.

Andrea looked between them. Cleared her throat. “Does anyone want an iced coffee?”

“I could go for an iced coffee,” Eldon muttered.

As Eva and Ragnar’s death stare contest dragged on, Eldon and Andrea stared at their brother. But Howlan simply shrugged. “I’m good,” he said. When his brother and sister’s stares turned into glares, Howlan finally got it. “Ah,” he said. “Yes, of course, iced coffee in a… freezing morning sounds like a treat.”

They slowly removed themselves from the room, and took a few guards with them.

Two remained behind the double doors of the parlour, at a safe distance away. Safe, meaning out of earshot. Safe, meaning that no sharp object would be flying off, making a hole through the door and hitting them over their poor, bystander heads.

Ragnar, of course, was onto his siblings, but he only sighed, and turned to look out the window, his head a mess of smoke and knots.

He crossed one leg lazily over the other, and then found Eva’s eyes on him again, scrutinizing that small move. He stiffened.

But she only said, “You know I’m right.”

“I didn’t say you were wrong. Being right doesn’t mean that you should do what you’re thinking of doing.”

“Which is?”

Ragnar’s eyes lifted to meet hers. “You think I’m that thick?” He paused, grinding his teeth. “You think I don’t see you staring out that window, trying to find a loophole in that brain of yours? What are the options, Ashryver?” He crossed his arms. “Do tell. Distract the guards? Jump from your window when night falls? No, of course not. You’re not stupid. You’ll wear another guard’s face and walk right through those entrance gates, put on your red cape and try to save the day. How am I doing in reading you so far?” 

Eva’s eyes scanned him from head to toe. Ragnar’s throat closed, and he felt like swallowing had become very difficult indeed, just as difficult as taking air into his lungs. There was a flash of yellow in her eyes, the glimpse of the predator within that would have no qualms about showing him claws and teeth and what she could do with them.

He wished it didn’t turn him on so much.

Eva walked to him.

His attention slipped from her face and his eyes lowered involuntarily to her hips. There were a lot of things about Ashryver that made him want to commit sin after sin after sin – her eyes, for one, which was a given, and pretty damned obvious. Her legs, of course. Her jawline, too. Every other attribute, really, because sometimes he couldn’t really pick, couldn’t really decide which would damn him faster, but in particular – those hips of hers.

He remembered sinking his teeth into their softness.

He remembered dragging his nails down those hips, as he fucked into her from behind.

Those hips stood right in front of him now, between his legs. Ragnar could just-

Lean in.

And lift her dress.

Kiss those hips again.

Kiss other parts of her, if she was feeling particularly generous.

But instead, Eva nudged his leg with her knee, uncrossing his legs. Then, she picked up the forgotten book in his lap, and he imagined her throwing it over her shoulder – but of course she didn’t. Eva placed it carefully on the coffee table, and then, before he could mutter a single word, those hips settled against his, her legs on either side of him.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

This is what she did best, he knew. Making his mind foggy. Making him forget about why he was irritated with her in the first place. Making him lose all sense of himself.

“Ashryver,” he warned.

She rolled her hips against his, and he clamped his mouth shut, a shuddering breath leaving him. There would be no mercy given to him. None at all.

The predator got her claws out, and they dragged over his face, so softly, making him lean into that touch, making his eyes flutter shut with resigned need, hopeless yearning, and palpable desire.

“So, what if I am?” She whispered against his cheek, another roll of her hips making him grit his teeth in a pathetic attempt to stop his body from responding.

Pathetic, indeed.

“There are guards outside,” he tried, but his voice was but a low growl against her. His hands were already lifting her dress.

“Something tells me,” she said against his ear, “that you wouldn’t particularly mind letting them know how you make me say your name.”

He knew what she was doing – he was just pathetic enough to fall for it.

He was weak, weak, weak.

There was no ability to think when she was grinding so beautifully against his cock.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Eva said, and not one sound fell out of her lips as Ragnar’s hands slipped under her dress, thumbs tracing the hem of her stockings, before rising to get re-acquainted with her hipbones, the softness of her stomach. Not one sound. She would spare nothing. Give him nothing. “So _what if I am_. What will you do? Stop me?”

He opened his eyes. “No,” he muttered, “I’ll hope you’ll take me along.”

She stilled. 

Her jaw tensed against his cheek for the slightest seconds. And then those hips abandoned him. Eva was sinking down onto her knees, her dress still bunched up to her hips, Ragnar caught a cruel glimpse of her thigh, of where her stockings ended.

_Hell_.

Slowly, she unbuttoned his trousers, staring at him, looking ruthless and utterly unbothered. “Why,” she said drily, “you think I can’t do it without you?”

Ragnar’s eyes lowered to her hands. “No,” he said, unable to compose himself, “No.”

“Then what?” She dared him.

“I don’t think _I_ can do it without you.”

Half-way through unbuttoning his trousers, Eva’s gaze locked on his. Something flashed in those Ashryver eyes, but then it was gone, replaced with cold determination.

Ragnar gripped her wrist before she could do anything else. “Stay. Promise me.”

“I will promise you nothing.” Her tone was almost tender, a traitor to her icy eyes.

“Stay,” he whispered, “or take me with you.”

Eva swallowed hard, some of that ice melting.

Ragnar slipped his fingers into hers, leaning in to touch her cheek with his free hand. “If you insist on doing this, don’t do it on your own, especially if you don’t have to.”

He kissed her before she could answer, with longing and sweet begging. Eva opened up like a flower meeting the sun, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. Ragnar scooped her up, and smiled slightly at her little sound of protest when he placed her back on his lap.

“Later,” he promised her.

Her neck was a place he often thought about – it was one of the places where her scent was stronger, wilder. It was intoxicating to lean in and drag his mouth along the line, letting his kiss linger in that curve where her shoulder began. Eva shifted her hips this way and that, and his answering growl made her do it again – and again. It was bliss and torture.

As it was always bound to be with her.

And Ragnar wouldn’t have it any other way.

The friction created by the fabric of her undergarments against his cock made him dizzy and hot, then add to that his unsettled heart and all the conversations they were to have flashing like hopeful reminders in the back of his mind, and you got yourself a very dishevelled-looking Ragnar Lochan.

Ragnar had every intention to touch her and have Ashryver writhing above him, but she never gave him a chance to. Instead, she gripped him gently, her lips against the corner of his mouth, her pants and loose breaths kissing his skin, her already-trembling thighs squeezing at his legs. Ragnar knew her impatience well. He didn’t push her further. Carefully, he hooked two thumbs on the hem of her undergarments and slipped them to the side.

Eva sunk down on him slowly.

His gasp was muffled by her hair, his hands gently guiding her in, following her own careful, torturous pace. He felt her flinch slightly, her hand sliding through the strands his hair as she stopped momentarily, catching her breath.

Ragnar opened his eyes to find her biting her lip. He kissed her chin, her jawline, anything to make it easier for her. Eva trembled, and when her lips found his, Ragnar thought his heart might shatter at last. It was sweet, and tender, and nothing like they’d ever known together; like a quiet summer morning instead of a raging winter storm. Eva’s thumb traced his bottom lip before she kissed him again, somehow slower, somehow even more tender than before.

He was breaking apart.

Then Eva slid all the way down, and he was buried deep inside her.

Her hips shifted to accommodate him, and while Ragnar was losing his damned mind, he wasn’t oblivious enough not to see the tense line of her mouth between kisses, the way the muscles of her thighs locked against him. “Eva,” he whispered, and it came out as a question.

She just kissed him again.

And again.

And again.

And once her body slowly began to relax, then she moved.

Ragnar grunted against her mouth, resisting the urge to touch her, to sink his nails and teeth into her and drag her closer. Her movements began slowly, a gentle rhythm that kept cutting off his breathing. His kisses moved down to her collarbones, to the tops of her breasts, then rose to her neck. Without hesitation, Eva leaned her head ever so slightly to the side. Her breathing picked up. Ragnar could hear the thunder in her heart.

More than a few times, Ragnar had almost – _almost_ – succumbed to the need of biting her. In those moments, when she was writhing underneath him, murmuring his name in the sweetest and filthiest of pleas, barring her throat to him, barring her soul and heart to him, when he had her pinned against a wall or a bookshelf and he would bury his face on her neck, his teeth sliding over her skin, and he heard that soft gasp falling from her mouth, he _almost_ did it.

But that would be a claiming deeper than any words he could muster to say to her.

So, he focused on the movements of her hips instead, sliding his hands down her body until their found their home, fingers squeezing her thighs until he could feel her urgency. Eva threw her head back as he moved his hips in time with hers, a soft little sound parting her lips, her hands squeezing his shoulders. Ragnar grabbed both her hands, and held them behind her, grip tightening on her wrists.

The image of her eyes squeezing shut, her lip taken between her teeth and her chest rising and falling with each thrust of his would be forever marked in his mind like a bloodstain.

She unravelled with the most haunting of sounds, and Ragnar knew he would spend nights upon nights replaying it. Her moans were swallowed by his kiss, and her shaking hands were released to rest at his cheeks. Ragnar stayed there for a moment as their kiss broke off, watching her, those eyes still closed, her thighs still trembling, her body leaning against his chest as if Eva couldn’t hold up her own weight.

And then she moved again.

“Ashryver,” he began, but she silenced him with a look, and pushed him back to the arm of the couch, one gentle hand on his chest. She rose and fell, and Ragnar ran a hand down his face, keeping all his sounds to himself. He didn’t take him long to break.

She leaned over him then, touching her lips to his once, sweetly, but didn’t move, even after it was all over. She stayed breathing hard against his chest, leaving small, close-mouthed kisses everywhere visible.

Ragnar wrapped his arms around her and sighed.

“You didn’t promise me anything,” he reminded her.

Ashryver had nothing to say to that – which was unlike her, and it frightened him.

She traced the buttons of his tunic, and even when he lifted her chin so she met his eyes, hers were unfocused, faraway. His chest constricted. “Don’t do it, Eva. Don’t do it. Not for me.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, her fingers tightening on his clothes.

“No,” he whispered, kissing her cheek, his thumb catching a fallen tear.

“They almost took you away from me,” she managed to let out, her voice so soft it was almost just a breath leaving her lips.

“I’m here,” he said. “Stay here with me.”

She hid her face on his neck, and Ragnar was left staring at the ceiling, feeling his eyes stinging, too. He worked his jaw, his hand splaying on her back. He murmured, “If you can’t say you love me, then say you’ll stay with me.”

Her whole body stiffened.

He wasn’t looking at her.

But even then, he could almost imagine the way her eyes widened, the Ashryver blue almost electric with shock, then the parted lips, the slow blink.

Eva lifted herself on her elbows, and when Ragnar thought she’d just up and leave, she just… stared down at him, something unreadable crossing her eyes. She sniffed slightly, puffy eyes and red lips. She said, “Kiss me.”

Ragnar almost told her no.

 _Promise me,_ he wanted to scream at her.

But what was he to do when she was looking down at him like that?

Ragnar lifted himself on his elbows, and pulled her closer. Hands on her cheeks, eyes meeting hers, he leaned in, and kissed her again.

He’d drop it.

For now.

***

By the middle of the day, the Queen called for a meeting.

Elide and Lorcan sent pointed glares to their children, a clear warning in their eyes. Eldon, Howlan and Andrea were on their best behaviour, sitting on the huge, round oak table, their backs straight. Ragnar, on the other hand, leaned against the far wall, shadows around him and in his eyes, his arms crossed. There was a faded scar running over his skin, wrist to elbow.

Eva, Amara and Laelia sat together, Lysandra by their side, occasionally throwing a curious glance at her daughter’s puffy eyes.

Fenrys and Vaughan stood close. They’d just told them that Luna had teleported herself gods-knew-where to find Atarah by herself, and the tension and fear sliced through the room like a thousand knives piercing cotton.

Rowan leaned his hands on the table, and began: “As you know, Lysandra, Aedion and I spent the morning questioning the guards. We have come to know that the male who killed Calia and captured Atarah and the male named Oren went by the name _Hylas_. He’d been a soldier his entire life, always loyal to the House of Galathynius.”

Andrea said, “So we can’t trust the army, either?”

“It’s impossible to know each and everyone’s motives, sweetheart,” Rowan said to her, an air of exhaustion around him. “We would have to torture every single one of them.”

Laelia visibly shuddered. Her sister, Amara, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Amara, who’d been holding this court together without Ferran. Even now, everyone could see the worried lines beneath her eyes – worry for her mate, who was away in Perranth, and worry for everyone else.

“Hopefully Luna will come back to us soon, safe,” Aelin said, throwing a glance to both Fenrys and Vaughan. She breathed in, “Alric Nox will be infiltrating the villages – Aran went to retrieve him. We believe he was last seen in Rosamel.”

Aedion tensed at the mention of his son, and they all noticed the look he shared with Lysandra from across the room.

Eva said, “What about Vanserra’s name?”

“The spies we sent to the nearest village said different names matched the description you gave us,” Aelin said.

Completing her thoughts, Eva said, “He’s got multiple identities, then. Of course. He could easily disguise himself.” A pause. She muttered, “No shifting abilities needed.”

“Then how are we supposed to find him?” Laelia murmured. “And everyone that works for him?”

Silence.

“The last plan will not do,” Aelin said softly. “We will have to adapt now, and fast.”

“Aelin,” Eva murmured.

“The worst thing has already happened,” Aelin continued. “They took one of our own. Almost killed a member of our family. If it’s true that this male has been murdering shifters and demi-Fae in this land without rising suspicion, then it’s not hard to imagine what he’d want with us.”

“He wants a public example,” Lysandra said grimly.

“Aelin,” Eva said.

“What’s his obsession with shifters and demi-Fae, anyway?” Amara asked.

“In my time, shifters were thought to be omens of bad luck,” Rowan said quietly. “Creatures to fear. Whenever there was a robbery, you wouldn’t blame the most obvious individual. It was easy to point your finger to the shifter – if talented shifters could wear any face, then following that logic, they would do anything, commit any crime. Many were burned. Maeve brought a young girl to court once, to display her abilities. A little piece of entertainment. The girl was dismembered the next day. Maeve was frightened.” Rowan tore his eyes away from his daughters, as if he couldn’t bear the memory. “She compelled us to do nothing.”

“And demi-Fae… well, it’s not the first time I hear about Fae discriminating against those who take human companions, who sire their children.” A pause. “Males like Viktor Vanserra do not find Aelin worthy of a crown.” Rowan’s jaw snapped; his eyes burned. “They do not find Lysandra worthy of her land.”

Aedion let out a long breath, his muscles trembling with barely-controlled rage.

“Vanserra might have been planning this longer than we know,” Aelin said. “It was sheer conscience that drove Eva to his hiding place. He clearly saw it as a shiny, heaven-sent opportunity. Still, we don’t know how long he would have taken to make his move hadn’t that happened, so-”

“Aelin,” Eva insisted.

Silence cut through the room again, and all eyes turned to her.

Eva was staring straight on, eyes unfocused as she murmured, “I can infiltrate his plans.”

It was Lysandra that turned to her daughter to protest-

But Eva continued, not allowing anyone to speak over her: “I know we’re still finding Atarah, but we’ll need to send more spies to figure out where Vanserra’s lair is. Not just Alric Nox. And once we find his lair, I can infiltrate it, wearing his face. I can change the course of this story.” She breathed in. “You all know it.”

Ragnar’s breath cut off.

He stepped out from the shadows, and at his looming presence, Eva turned to look over his shoulder. Her face was a mix of an apology and _I told you so, I promised nothing_.

Ragnar stood there, hands slack at his sides, staring at her. The pain felt very much like a knife digging into his ribs.

“You’ll do no such thing,” said Lysandra.

Aedion, too, was already shaking his head.

“You allowed Aran to ride all the way to Rosamel for a spy,” Eva said calmly.

“Your brother gave me no other choice,” Lysandra snarled.

“I will give you none, either, mama,” Eva said.

“Eva,” Aedion warned.

She faced her father. “Sheltering me will hurt me more,” she said. “I can help. I can fix this.”

“There are other ways,” Aelin said.

Rowan’s eyes were a plea.

She ignored them. She ignored all of them. Instead, Eva said, “I’m the one who knows his face. I still have his scent. I can catch him faster. I can lead his coven astray.”

“You can get killed, also,” Amara pointed out, a stern frown in her features. She looked awfully like Aelin when she did that face. “Which we _don’t_ want. Understand that?”

“Don’t talk down to me,” Eva warned.

Amara’s face darkened, but Laelia was between them, and took advantage of it. “Evie,” Laelia said calmly. “Surely, we can find other ways.”

Eva was still glaring at Amara when she said, “None that are faster and more efficient.” She looked between her mother and father then, “You know I’ve made up my mind. They almost…” Eva clamped her mouth shut, and Ragnar realized she’d been close to saying what she’d told him in the parlour, hours before. Instead, she said, “They hurt us. You can’t keep expecting me to sit idly by while they keep hurting our own. It’s not just our family. It’s for every shifter that was unlucky to be found out, every demi-Fae that felt inadequate, judged, betrayed. Every innocent person that was murdered over a crime they did not commit just because they were unfortunate enough to be born with abilities beyond others’ slow and limited comprehensions. I want to do this. Please, stand behind me, or do not stand with me at all.”

“Why not allow us to stand beside you?” Aelin asked, her tone a whisper.

Eva looked away as tears began to sting her eyes again.

“Evie, Aelin is right,” Eldon said gently. “We’re here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“She _won’t_ ,” Lysandra said.

Eva swallowed down her tears, and faced her family. She folded her hands neatly on her lap, and said, with a calm with which one used when discussing the weather. “I’m doing this.” She clenched her jaw. “Let Alric Nox find what he needs to find. When he does find it, I’ll be there.”

Her mother and father didn’t get a chance to respond. The room was startled as the doors closed harshly behind them. When Eva locked over her shoulder, Ragnar was gone.

***

Luna held Atarah’s bruised hand as she told the story.

Oren sat close, but Luna didn’t fail to notice how shallow his breathing was. Just as she didn’t fail to notice that Atarah looked ready to pass out.

Atarah dived into her conversations with both Hylas and Viktor Vanserra. Everything aligned with what Luna and the others had been talking about.

“He really wants us all dead,” Luna murmured.

Oren lowered his head.

And then – and then Atarah told her about Hylas. Luna had a vague memory of his face, his uniform, his expression, but as her friend continued on with the story, Luna’s chest only grew tighter and tighter.

Her childhood friend – forced to kill her way out of a cell.

Atarah looked about to cry afterwards. But she shut her eyes, squeezed Luna’s hand as much as she could, and the tears never ended up spilling. Like she didn’t have any more to spare. Instead, she said to Luna, “Don’t look at me like that.” Her thumb traced Luna’s hand. “I know what you’re thinking. This wasn’t your fault, Luna. You didn’t tell me to go to Orynth. You were keeping me safe in sending that letter.”

This was no time for Luna to be comforted.

She wrapped her friend in her arms, forcing herself to stay strong. No tears, Luna decided. No tears would be spilled here. Anger was good. Anger kept her standing after everything Atarah had told her.

Experimenting on shifters. Opening up demi-Fae.

It was all too gruesome to think about.

“My parents?” Atarah asked softly.

“They’re safe, still in Suria,” Luna whispered. “Aelin was thinking about sending them a letter. There’s a search party for you and Oren. People are worried sick. I was worried sick.”

Atarah rested her head on Luna’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she choked out. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

At the way her friends’ voice broke, Luna held her tighter, her chin resting on Atarah’s head. Oren’s eyes caught Luna’s, and for a single second, Luna caught something there that made her stop and stare.

That sense of familiarity as she looked at Oren’s face made her itch. But-

She’d consider this another time.

“Atarah, Oren,” Luna said softly, “I’m so sorry.”

Her friend nodded, pulling back slowly. “It’s going to be okay,” she repeated.

Luna saw how much Oren was itching to touch Atarah. To comfort her.

Something had changed here.

Luna decided it wasn’t fair to put her nose into it.

“You said we were near Allsbrook,” Luna said softly. “His house – that house you were in…”

“It seemed to have been built centuries ago,” Oren said, when Atarah just stared at the grass. “He has two cells. One in a basement, one further underground. From their conversations, it appeared that they… used it to keep people in. And then… try to…” Oren didn’t finish. Instead, he said, “Vanserra wants to know what’s at the core of people like shifters and demi-Fae.”

“He probably wants their abilities,” Atarah said, sniffing. “Hylas told me… well, from the way he spoke, it sounded as if not only his master wanted to know why shifters could do what did, why demi-Fae were often times blessed with more strength than centuries-old Fae, but also… to somehow… be able to take those abilities to himself?” A pause. “He talked about getting into my mind and erasing my memories of him.” Atarah’s eyes became unfocused, as she remembered. “But I knew he had no way of doing so. I confronted him. And he knew it, too. However, he made it seem as if… he _would_ know, soon.”

“It’s a bit of a contradiction, isn’t it?” Oren said. “He hates them, but he wants to study them?”

“Not necessarily,” Luna chimed in. “You can hate something for wanting it.” She paused. “There are people, ill-intentioned people, who _will_ support him. Vanserra is charming. For years, and years, he wrote books – Eva met him, and she described how enticing his mind games could be. If he can turn the people against Aelin, then there will never be peace. People will keep dying.”

Silence hung in the air like needles hovering above them. Atarah broke it, saying, “Luna, would it be impossible? I mean, is it even possible that he might steal one’s abilities?”

“I don’t know,” Luna murmured. “But if he plans to win, becoming the very thing he preaches to hate is not going to win him support. That’s where the plot becomes muddy.” Another pause. She thought about what she’d been told – Vanserra wanting to take power for himself. It would make sense for him to fool the people he hired. Preaching about the impurity of the Fae who took human lovers, the wrongness of shifters, and then… becoming just that _if_ his plan was to be strong enough to be at the top. Then he wouldn’t have to answer to anybody. What he needed, however, was to learn about shifters and demi-Fae, _lure_ them in, so then he could learn what to do with them.

Luna whispered to herself, “That’s what happened to Eldon.”

“What happened to Eldon?” Atarah asked, alarmed.

Luna opened her mouth, then clamped it shut. “He’s fine,” she said, stumbling over the words. “We should go now.”

“Luna, are you sure?” Atarah stared at her intently.

“Yes,” Luna said, and they stood, quietly looking over at the trees, trying to sense any steps, listen in for any sounds out of the ordinary.

“Luna…” Atarah insisted.

“I can do this,” Luna said. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” Atarah said gently. “I just-”

“Don’t worry about me,” Luna said, then turned her eyes to Oren. “Hold each other.”

Atarah wrapped her hand around Oren’s. Oren’s pale eyes turned to Luna, confused. “What is about to happen?”

“I got here by teleporting,” Luna said to him. “That’s my thing. And that’s how I’m going to get you home.”

“Teleporting,” Oren murmured, and all of a sudden, his face had a strange green tinge to it.

“Wait,” Atarah said. “You teleported _here_? You didn’t tell me that.”

“How do you think I found you?”

Atarah made a face that in any other situation would have been utterly hilarious. “But you didn’t know where we were, Luna.”

Then Luna remembered – of course. She hadn’t told Atarah that she’d discovered a new shiny side to her abilities. She’d told her bits and pieces about Seren in the night she arrived, but… everything since then…

“I have a lot to tell you,” Luna said.

Atarah looked mildly concerned. Which is to say, she looked out of her mind with worry.

“Come on.”

Luna took hold of both their hands.

Admittedly, she felt a bit shaky.

But she was going to do this. Her body was _not_ going to give out.

_You’ve never teleported three people at once._

_And you’re exhausted._

_It’s going to be fine._

_Just fine._

Luna thought of home. She thought of Seren. She thought, _I can do this._

She closed her eyes, and murmured, “Whatever you do, do not let go.”

Thunder in the distance.

Marbled floors. A familiar face. Curtains of Terrasen green.

Luna breathed in.

One, two.

 _Three_.

***

Eva stared at the closed doors with a heavy heart.

Ragnar had refused to stand and listen to her plan.

_Let him hate me,_ she thought. _Perhaps it is for the best._

Grim silence greeted her.

Her mother was close to sobbing.

Her father…

Aedion’s eyes, her eyes, stared through her, the pain in them hitting her like a slap in the face. But he nodded once, just a little. _I’ll stand with you._

Eva didn’t manage a smile.

She faintly heard Eldon mutter, “Hey, does anyone else smell smoke?”

_Crash_.

It was so quick; Eva almost fell out of her chair when the screams echoed in her ears. In that half-second, everything happened. Her mother placed her arms around her and pulled her back. Eldon, Andrea and Howlan jumped, and Howlan _did_ fall out of his chair. Aelin pushed Rowan and Aedion behind her, and Fenrys and Vaughan crashed into the wall behind them. Amara stood, quick as a snake, pulling her sister with her.

Dust fell on Eva’s face.

For a dizzying moment, she stupidly thought: _a star collided with this table._

Then she opened her eyes-

The round oak table was broken in half. Three people were lying there.

One of them was Luna. Vaughan stepped in immediately. Fenrys choked on a scream.

In the middle of the female and the male, Luna lifted her head and looked around.

“Did it,” she whispered before passing out.

***

Andras reminded himself, he couldn’t break down. _Not yet._

His mother stood by his side, but Andras felt utterly alone. 

He felt like a child in a strange, dangerous world. A child that had once worn capes made out of bedsheets, crowns made of flowers, a child throwing fake parties and practicing his bows. Now that cape chocked him. That crown was pure iron, weighing on his head, putting an impossible weight on his shoulders. He wished he’d practiced his bowing more.

Andras felt utterly unprepared for the hell that awaited him.

_Hunting accident._

His father had fought countless wars. Lived centuries. Doomed monsters. And now one of those same monsters had ended him just like that.

The naga had been terrorizing their people for centuries – but ever since a few years back, it had gotten worse. So much worse that Andras remembered one particular afternoon, years and years ago, his father pulling him out of the garden where he liked to play. Just like that. Out of the blue, he’d grabbed him tightly, and gotten him inside.

_“Papa, what’s happened?”_

_“Stay with your mother.”_

_“But papa – I want to play outside. Where are you going?”_ Andras had shrunk at the sight of his father’s bandolier. The sharp things in it.

 _“Andras,”_ Tamlin had said. _“Please, listen to me. Stay here.”_

_“Tamlin.”_ His mother’s wings had looked scary that day. She’d said again, _“Tamlin.”_

But his father hadn’t listened. He’d gone after the naga, time and time again, specially after they’d managed to step foot inside their home.

Now, as his mother took his hand, as Andras stared at his father’s unmoving lips, he remembered the first conversation he’d eavesdropped between his parents.

_“You could have died today.”_

_“Emerie, stop.”_

 _“What did I save you that day for? What did I heal you for? So you can fall in love with me, create a life with me, then throw yourself into danger?”_ His mother’s voice had never sounded this angry. Andras had wrapped his arms around his knees, sniffing slightly on top of the grand staircase _. “Tamlin.”_ His little pointed ears struggled to hear the next part. _“Think of your son. He’s frightened when he doesn’t see you.”_

_“What am I to do? Allow the naga to come into our home? Hurt my people? Hurt you, and my son?”_

He hadn’t listened.

His father had never listened.

Emerie pulled her son close, resting her cheek on his shoulder. By now, Andras towered over her. He’d almost towered his father, too. He said to her, “I’m sorry, mama.”

Because he hadn’t followed his father, like he’d intended to do. Andras was not like his father in that department. He did what he was told. If he’d been there…

His mother only shook her head, burying her face in his chest.

He just held her, through the whole, unbearable thing.

When it was over, and his father was truly gone, Andras wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees.

How was he supposed to lose a father one day and be given a crown in the next?

He wanted to be left alone, but people kept coming to him.

He spoke, but the words poured out of his mouth without him even being able to process them.

And then-

“Andras,” Seren whispered.

Andras looked up.

His friend wrapped his arms around him. Andras couldn’t break here. He told himself he wouldn’t break here. It was like Seren knew.

Seren had a way to read him, even when he wasn’t poking into his mind for the fun of it.

He led Andras away from the crowd, until they were standing alone in an archway of yellow roses, as bright as the sun. As Seren touched his shoulders, Andras couldn’t hold it in any longer.

His sobs came in full, startling force.

Andras couldn’t breathe.

_You were named after a friend that changed my world forever. But that friend did not listen. **You** will listen to me, Andras._

Those had been Tamlin’s last words to him. He’d told his father he was coming, too. His father had blatantly refused. Had he known, somehow, in that back of his mind, that perhaps he would not be returned? That the naga would be too many? And it would take his full power, every last bit of life inside him, to kill them all for good?

_You will listen to me, Andras_.

Seren just held him through it all. Andras grip on him was death-like, but Seren made no complaints. He didn’t try to comfort Andras. He simply held him, and allowed his friend to cry, and grieve, and get unforgivable amounts of tears on his tunic.

After a moment, Andras composed himself as much as he could, and stepped back.

“Fuck,” Andras murmured, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, truly,” Seren said gently. “You don’t _have_ to be done crying, you know.”

“I’m done,” Andras lied, straightening his back.

That’s the way he’d always been – the diplomat, the charming face. But Seren could see through his little act – even now. But he didn’t comment.

As if to distract himself, Andras looked up, over Seren’s shoulder, and something changed in Andras’ eyes.

Seren didn’t even have to ask.

“I didn’t expect her to come,” Andras said, his tone soft, low.

“You know what’s a bit frustrating?” Seren said with a much lighter tone. “You not admitting to have a crush on her yet.”

“I’m not bound to do it now in this state, and circumstances,” Andras shot back. Then paused. His tone was borderline bitter – well, as bitter as Andras managed to sound. Bitterness usually sounded sweet from his mouth. “Zelos still chasing her?”

Seren snorted. Zelos was Amren’s firstborn, and while he had Varian’s spectacular face, he got his brooding attitude from his mother. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering Seren loved Amren – he would have loved Zelos too, if he didn’t get on his damned nerves so much. Their clashes in the past had resulted in a few mountains being destroyed, but no matter.

“Zelos just wants Naza because he knows he can’t have her,” Seren muttered.

“Can’t he, really?” Andras drawled.

“Do you know who you’re talking about?”

Andras shook his head, as if to rid him of all his thoughts about Zelos and Naza. Sighing, he asked Seren, “So what’s up with this tension between you and your cousin? Why does she look at you like she wants to twist your neck? You know, more than usual.”

Seren grimaced. “Long story. Long fucking story, old friend.”

“Tell me over drinks,” Andras said. “I need to wash my face.” He sighed. “Stop looking like a pair of gossipy aunts with you.”

Seren patted his friend’s back, and smiled sympathetically. “Come, then.”

***

“Who knew Tamlin would end up marrying an Illyrian,” Nora murmured to her sister. Nora, whose curly hair resembled Elain’s in all ways except length. She liked to wear her hair cut to her jawline, making her round cheeks much more prominent, which, in return, made her dark eyes stand out.

Astrid, her older sister, watched her carefully. It was unlike Nora to be so lost in thought. She was usually the bubbliest one of the two. “I think it’s sweet,” Astrid said, leaning against the tree. The wings they inherited from their father were not on display today. The Spring Court might have accepted Emerie, but they were doubtful they would accept a full army of Illyrians in their garden. “And, considering everything, it worked out just fine. Spring and Night are peaceful again.”

Nora’s eyes fixed on the blood-red roses.

Astrid looked over at her sister and paused, her gaze curious. “Nora?”

Nothing.

Astrid shook her sister’s arm. She was cold as ice.

“What’s wrong?” Astrid said, flinching.

Nora blinked, stared up at her sister, and shivered slightly. “I- nothing. Let’s… let’s go into the sun.”

Astrid stared after her sister as she left, blinking in confusion. It had been a strange interaction. Well, her sister was a strange one, but her strangeness was usually reserved for clothes and hair accessories.

She was making a mental note to ask her sister about it later when, all of a sudden, she jumped.

“Mother’s… breasts, Paz,” Astrid said, stepping away from her. “That _silence_ of yours is petrifying.”

Astrid would never forgive Paz for inheriting her mother’s unnatural stealth. But unlike Amren, Paz’s non-threatening eyes showed nothing but ternderness and a little amusement.

“Nora looked upset,” Paz murmured in her birdsong voice, as she tied her white hair back with a leather band. “What happened?”

“Good question,” Astrid said. “I was about to ask her just that. Do you think-“ Astrid’s mouth shut all of a sudden, when something – or rather, someone – caught her attention over Paz’s shoulder. “Oh.”

Paz turned then, and followed Astrid’s gaze – which landed on a flash of copper hair.

“What’s Eris’ youngest son doing here?” Astrid whispered.

Paz followed Jerek Vanserra all the way to the gravel path, watching him with parted lips. His lithe body was quick on the steps, mechanic, almost. He ignored everybody’s stares and snarls. Officially, Paz recalled, Jerek was Emissary to the Autumn Court, which roughly translated to Jerek being Eris’ messenger, taking on Eris’ dirty work when the High Lord of the Autumn Court didn’t deign to show up.

Ever since Spring had been passed onto Eris, things had gone to shit.

Autumn was one of the very reasons why the naga had invaded Spring in the first place. Or so it was rumoured. So, considering that Autumn was not on very good terms with Spring, nor with any of the other Courts, it seemed awfully strange to see its Emissary there that day.

People didn’t seem to take well to it.

They watched Jerek walk by like hungry hounds, ready to pull him apart. The silence was deafening to Paz. His amber eyes were cast low. And then he entered the double doors, led by guards inside, and out of everyone’s sight.

Paz swallowed a strange discomfort in her throat.

“He’s probably here to speak to the new High Lord,” Paz said lowly, staring at the doors Jerek had disappeared to.

“Andras hasn’t been crowned yet,” Astrid frowned.

“By all means, he’s High Lord now,” Paz said. “Emerie stated she doesn’t want to rule. If she wants to pass that crown to her son… then Autumn is now his problem.”

A tense silence descended over them both.

Sighing, Astrid intertwined her arm with Paz. “Everything’s probably fine.”

Paz began to nod, but as they walked, Paz couldn’t help feeling the exact opposite.

***

Her brother arrived with Alric by sundown.

Eva received him with a tight, much-needed hug. After today, she would need a couple more of those.

Alric Nox was polite and tense, as he always was, but he spoke like he meant business, which Eva was pleased about. She had made up her mind, despite her family’s protests – and soon to be Aran’s protests, too. She was certain her twin would not disappoint where arguing was concerned.

She filled Aran in on the latest news – mainly Luna’s return with Atarah and Oren.

It had been quite a shock.

Eva had never heard Vaughan cry like that before.

Luna was still sleeping in the infirmary, Vaughan and Fenrys refusing to leave her side. Atarah and Oren were not in good shape. But it was safe to say that after a few night’s sleep, they would be fine.

Eva’s relief, however, was short lived.

She still had one more thing to do tonight.

***

After seeing to Luna, Atarah swung by Oren’s bed in the infirmary. She expected him to be awake, but he’d fallen asleep quickly. A female stood by his bed when she arrived, a healer, carefully checking his temperature. When she turned to Atarah, something in her eyes made the healer smile gently, and say, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thank you,” Atarah murmured.

Her hands had been bandaged, but they were still in pretty rough shape. Until her body rested properly, the tissue wouldn’t close. She wouldn’t heal.

But Atarah’s mind was much too chaotic to rest.

Her heart much too worried.

She sat by Oren’s bed, the moment feeling oddly familiar.

Tomorrow, she’d have to write to her parents, if they were not already on their way over. She’d have to speak to Aelin, too. The Queen had been persistent that Atarah should rest, and that their discussion could wait a few hours after everything that she’d been through. So – tomorrow. Tomorrow.

She touched Oren’s hand gently, and was startled when he breathed in, his eyes slowly opening.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not wishing to frighten him. “I didn’t wish to wake you. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Even after everything that had happened to him – to them – Oren didn’t balk away from her touch. He’d immediately known it was her. Like his heart had recognized her the moment she’d touched him.

_Mate_.

It was slowly dawning on her.

There was doubt, still, confusion, surely, but… also, a sense of… giddiness? It was strange and inexplicable, but she wanted to place his hand on her cheek and tell him how good the strawberry pastries were here. She wanted more, much more. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to him breathing.

_Goddess._

_Would you get a grip?_

His eyes roamed her face, then her hands. Her new clothes. Then, a beautiful, wonderful, exuberant smile that lit his eyes and made his cheeks a little flushed appeared on his lips. He murmured, “Hey, you.”

“Hey, you,” she echoed.

Oren slipped his fingers between her bandaged ones.

Atarah watched the gesture with a hawk’s attention.

He said, “They’ve got me on a few herbs, for the pain, and I had really colourful dreams.”

“Ah,” Atarah smiled, laughing softly. “Do tell.”

“I don’t remember any of them.”

“A pity,” Atarah said. “I bet they were fun dreams. Sorry to interrupt them.”

“I’m not,” he said.

Again – he had _no_ business looking at her like that.

_There is no one else._

Atarah gulped.

“We have to talk,” he said, but he was smiling.

Atarah’s spine tingled. “We do,” she said. “We do,” she repeated, not knowing what to say, not knowing what words were or what they were used for. If she were to be asked her name right then and there, she wouldn’t be able to remember it. Her voice became soft, “Yes, we do.”

“Then let’s talk.”

“You’re my mate,” she whispered.

“And you’re mine,” he said back, playing with her fingers – so gently.

He looked as if he could barely move, but Atarah’s heart burst with emotion for him – she could have leaned in and smacked a kiss on that face of his. But she refrained to.

She took a steadying breath, and said, “That’s uh… unexpected, isn’t it?”

He kept smiling at her.

“How much did they give you?” She murmured then.

“I’m sorry,” he blinked. “I just can’t… stop looking at you.”

And then he grimaced. “That’s so fucking creepy.” He flinched. “Fuck, sorry for swearing. Ah, I do that when I’m nervous.”

She wanted to know what other things made him nervous. Heights? Loud instruments? Ballroom dancing?

Atarah’s smile was hurting her cheeks. “You’re not too bad to look at, either.”

He flushed up to his ears, and it was simultaneously the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and the most endearing.

But then his face softened, his thumb making circles on her open palm. “You should rest, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart,” she repeated, feeling as if she might be dreaming. “I like that. I like that too much.”

Oren’s eyes searched hers, that smile softening into something… else.

Atarah blinked, then cleared her throat. “Yes, of course, yes, I… should let you rest, too. We will, hum… speak in the morning?” 

Oren nodded, his smile growing as he watched her stumble over her words.

“Okay.” She said. “Okay.” She stood, but didn’t get to take a step.

Oren tugged at her hand, and Atarah almost fell on him.

He held her close.

He touched her cheek.

Atarah’s breath was cut short as she looked down at him. Her eyes dipped to his mouth. It was as if Oren had a clear pathway to her own thoughts, because then he did the one thing she’d wanted him to do.

He touched his lips to hers.

It was so soft, and so sweet, that Atarah barely managed to stay up. Just the briefest, most tender press of his mouth on hers, and her heartbeat could have fuelled an entire star for centuries. Oren pulled back much too soon, and they watched each other.

Oren gave a little smile and she gave a little laugh in return.

He kissed the tip of her nose and said, “Thank you.”

“For the kiss?”

“For everything,” he said.

“You’ve thanked me enough,” she said back.

Oren’s thumb traced her lip, so gently. He said, “In that case,” and pressed his lips to her cheek. When he broke away, he whispered, “For everything that’s to come, then.”

He-

He really just-

Atarah could barely manage to pull back. She thought she might fall to the side.

He kissed her knuckles, so carefully, and said, “Tomorrow, _sweetheart_.”

“Yes,” she said back, her smile widening. “Goodnight, Oren.”

“Goodnight.”

***

She slipped into his bed in the middle of the night.

Ragnar didn’t move.

He wasn’t asleep.

He’d been awake the moment she’d opened his door.

Eva wrapped her arms around him, her lips pressed against the hard muscles of his back.

He wouldn’t budge.

Wouldn’t speak to her.

_That’s fair._

She could hear his sharp intake of breath, and nothing else.

At last, Eva found her voice. It was soft, lost in the darkness of his room. “I love you.”

She could cry.

She could burst into tears.

But she wouldn’t.

Refused to.

She deserved his silence.

But then again, Eva felt his body tense all over at the words. Heard the way his heart stumbled when she’d said it.

And she didn’t have to say it. Ragnar had known. He’d known it as well as he knew her body what her feelings were. And when he could’ve made that a weapon in their games, he didn’t. He’d given her the time and space to tell him. He’d given them both time for their feelings to settle, to grow.

“I love you,” she repeated. “That’s why I have to do this.”

She thought the only reason why he’d speak to her would be to kick her out of his bed, his life.

But when Ragnar turned around, he pinned her to the bed.

Eva gasped in surprise. Her wrists were pinned over her head. His hips pinned hers to the mattress.

A flicker of desire surged through her, but it wasn’t enough to push away that sinking feeling in her stomach at what she’d just confessed to.

Ragnar leaned in, and his scent overpowered her senses. She wanted to sink her teeth into his skin. She wanted to sink her hands into his heart and keep it where no one else could take it.

His voice startled her with its softness. She expected him to growl at her, like all those times she’d growled at him whenever they’d argue. He whispered, “Tell me.”

She breathed in. Now, she just had to gather the courage to say it to his face, not just his back.

“Say it,” Ragnar let out. He leaned in, touched his brow to hers. “You can’t say it when I’m looking at you, is that it? You’re afraid I’ll see your heart, Ashryver?”

Well.

Her heart has been on display since the moment he took her to bed.

She didn’t say it, though.

Eva leaned in, trying to catch his mouth. Ragnar allowed a kiss, but he wouldn’t melt for her – not again.

But this is what she knew with him.

The weight of what she’d have to do pressed down on her, making her unable to breathe.

His eyes flashed in the darkness. One of his hands let go of her wrists, and trailed down her body. There was something cruel about his mouth as he pulled away from her lips.

He cupped her, gently, yet firmly, and Eva let out a soft sound. Half a sob, half a plea. A hand gripping her wrist, another between her legs, Eva was reminded of the morning in the parlour.

“Ragnar,” she whispered.

“Got something to tell me, my love?” He said, sounding close to angry now.

At her begging, her undergarments were pulled down her legs in one swift motion. Her hips lifted, trying to meet his. What they met was his cold hand, pushing them down.

“Behave,” he snarled.

She would do no such thing.

Fingers still working between her legs, Eva’s teeth snapped at him.

“You can’t say those words to my face, Ashryver?” Ragnar asked, almost tauntingly. He leaned into her ear, “How about I fuck them out of you?”

Eva’s answering moan was all it took.

Before she knew it, Ragnar had released her wrists and he was buried inside her again. She thought she might die as every thrust sent her closer and closer to that edge. He kissed her face, her neck, her throat.

If the whole palace heard her whimpering, then it was his entire damn fault.

It was then that his lips touched that sweet spot in her neck, his teeth trailing a path of small little almost-bites on her skin that made her hips lift to meet his. Her legs wrapped around his waist. It was too much. She might be crying. “Bite me.”

Ragnar almost stilled as she said those words. 

He’d refused in the past.

But now-

Eva looked up at him, hips undulating, catching a fallen murmur of her name from his lips with a kiss. Then she fell back, and bared her neck to him. “Please.”

Ragnar looked almost pained.

Eva’s eyes fluttered shut as leaned in on her neck. Her breathing stilled altogether as she felt his teeth. All the while, his hips did not give her a break. He kept giving her everything and everything beyond that, and then, before she reached that delicious high, his teeth sank into her.

Eva let out a sound that she’d never made before. Something primal deep within her. She’d felt his claiming beyond her flesh, digging deep into her bones. When he pulled back, watching her, almost in awe, Eva saw his eyes change.

As if-

As if he’d realized-

His brow touched hers as he whispered her name, as he pushed her over that edge. Again. Again. Again.

When it was all over, and it was just them and the silence of the night, and Ragnar pulled back to look at her with nothing but love in his eyes, her heart cracked open. “I love you,” she told him.

Ragnar traced a finger over her mark, and Eva visibly shuddered. Another day – another day, she’d get her teeth on him. Ragnar’s eyes told her he’d beg her, too.

“I love you,” she said again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, keeping him close to her. “I love you. I love you, Ragnar.”

He was silent, as if he didn’t have any words.

Eva only realized he was trying to push back tears when she looked up at him.

Ragnar kissed her brow, her cheeks, her lips, her nose. 

Then he said to her, like a promise the endless darkness would always carry, “I love you, Eva.”


	19. Chapter 19

He refrained from waking her.

But as Ragnar lay there, the urge to touch her was an itch that soon turned into an ache. His heart was so light. His eyes were brand new. Like he was seeing her, not for the first time, but for _real_ now.

He touched her cheek, just a featherlike brush of his fingers against her sleeping face. Ashryver barely stirred. She slept soundly. Peacefully.

His delight.

His whole heart.

His stubborn, difficult, wonderful girl. 

His mate.

The realization had hit him in the face after he’d bitten her. At the first taste of her on his tongue, every argument, every screaming match, every stare down, every night spent with his mouth on her body, every day spent aching for her, for her voice, her eyes, her time, her smile, her anger, for _her_ – it all made perfect sense.

Like he’d been looking through a window, and he’d finally managed to wipe that condensation away to see everything clearer.

His Eva.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

_I love you._

He could have easily forgiven her rashness had Ragnar a way of knowing for certain that she wasn’t throwing herself to the wolves because of him. At the end of the day, that’s what it was for her – they’d almost killed him, so she was going to make them pay. Perhaps it was a small part in her list of incentives, but that small part of her was doing it for him.

Eva wouldn’t change her mind, and Ragnar wouldn’t be the one to change it. Even after everything. He knew so.

But he couldn’t leave her to do it all alone.

If his mate was so adamant about risking her life, then Ragnar Lochan’s place would be at her side, until his very last breath.

***

Oren was having a hard time.

For one, there were the clothes.

Oh, the clothes.

He liked them, he did. He’d never wore so much colour in his life, but alas, that did not take away from the fact that he enjoyed clothes, a lot, and the ones he’d been given, you know, in particular, were… nice.

But Gods, were they tight.

He felt like an imposter. Courtiers passed by him, giving him curious glances, whispering to themselves, and guards nodded his way in a manner of respect, but Oren didn’t know how to respond to neither.

He’d always worn loose-fitting clothes and he was constantly picking dirt out of his fingernails, and that’s how he liked it. That’d been his life for the past twenty and so years. Looking like a Lord didn’t erase that, but it sure felt slightly uncomfortable.

Second, there was the obvious – he was about to speak to Rowan Whitethorn and Aelin Galathynius, who were heroes to him. His father told him stories of the Prince from long before he’d become the consort to the Queen of Terrasen, and Oren remembered spending late nights with his brothers wide awake, arguing about who was worthy of playing Aelin and defeating the imaginary evil queen Maeve.

It might have been the collar of his embroidered green tunic, but suddenly, Oren did not remember how to breathe properly.

Then, of course, there was the matter of his mate.

Truth be told, the last part did not lead him to the edge of a panic attack, but it did make him weak in the knees. Just the thought of it. _Her_.

He should be thinking about anything else, but, as if his pathetic, lovestruck thoughts had somehow summoned her, Atarah rounded the corner, and their eyes met.

Her scent hit him like a stack of bricks.

Oren cleared his throat and smiled as best as he could, a failed attempt at normalcy, though he felt his smile was not really worthy of a Lady like her – it was all crooked and nervous and most likely verging on madness.

Atarah walked with the grace of a dancer.

He clenched his hands into fists and placed them behind his back, resisting the urge to take her into his arms. Her dress was a pale blue, scattered flowers embroidered at the swaying hem, her long-sleeves almost translucent, brown skin glowing underneath. Dark hair neatly coiled into a bun at the back of her head, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright.

She was a sight. And he was clearly ogling.

Her hands were still bandaged. And through those sleeves, Oren could see the scars running up her forearms, now faint, but very much still there. His mood darkened. His smile faltered. He tried not to show it as he took her hand, and kissed her knuckles.

“My Lady,” he cooed.

At his attempt at a humoured tone, Atarah grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. _Gods_.

“You look so pretty,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I- that’s forward. You’re very lovely.”

Her grin widened. She looked almost shy in this morning light. Oren wanted to spin her around and make her smile some more.

Atarah said, “You look well,” and sounded relieved.

He caressed the bandages of her hands and said, “You do, too. Did you sleep?”

Her smile faltered, too. Atarah’s gaze turned away for one single moment. “Not very well.”

He knew it, too.

He could see it in the lines underneath her eyes. That darkness she couldn’t really hide. That kernel of darkness that could be eased, but not erased, after what she was forced to do. After everything she’d been through.

Oren’s throat closed up, but he kissed her hand again and murmured softly, “Those nights will become easier. It will take time, I know. But you have to believe they will become easier. No one blames you, Atarah. I don’t think you should blame yourself, either.”

Her eyes flashed as they met his. Slowly, her fingers wrapped around his, and she said, “But you didn’t sleep, either. I can tell.”

“I was worried for you.”

“Worried for _me_?” She said, a soft, sad smile playing on her lips. She took a step forward.

Oren breathed her in, and almost shut his eyes. Instead, he said, his voice low, “You were not okay.”

“Neither were you.” It was as if she’d say _Neither of us are okay_ , but she settled for, “Yesterday, when I told you to stop…”

She hesitated, but Oren leaned his head to the side, encouraging her to ask what she wanted. After letting out a sigh, Atarah said, “I’ve been thinking about that moment, in the forest. Why you didn’t want to stop.”

“I wanted to protect you,” he whispered.

“What about yourself?” She whispered back, looking up at him. “The only way I got you to rest was to… make it _my_ pain. What about _your_ pain, Oren?”

He had no answer for her.

He tried. Oren’s lips parted, but words failed him.

Atarah bit her lip. “I think you are too used to giving people everything. You should spare a little of that everything for yourself, too.” She touched his cheek. “It’s okay to reach a limit. It’s okay to break down. You’re not a burden. You know that, right?”

He sniffed slightly, a little taken aback by her observation. Atarah’s hand began to fall from his face, and her expression softened, guilt shining in her eyes. She thought she’d overstepped.

Oren held her hand before she could pull away entirely. He breathed in. “I… can put everything and everyone else before my own wellbeing sometimes. I know it’s not right. Sometimes I can help it, sometimes I… can’t.”

Atarah watched him.

He smiled at her. “We all give a little of ourselves away for the people we care about, don’t we?”

Atarah’s cheeks flushed with delight. Oren realized it was because of what he’d said, and then _his_ heart was filled with delight at the fact that _he’d_ delighted _her_. He meant it. Of course, he meant every word.

He was utterly whipped, that’s what he was.

Atarah seemingly composed herself, and said, so softly, “A little is fine. I don’t want for you to give your entire self away. It’s not right.”

“I’ll try,” he promised, placing her hand back on his cheek. He leaned into her warmth, and she smiled a gentle smile, just for him. The grey light from the window kissed her face in just the right way, putting a glint in those eyes of hers, and Oren’s heart felt like it was ready to jump out of his mouth.

Carefully, his hand touched her waist. Slowly, he pulled her closer. Just to see what she’d do.

Atarah looked up at him. And then she got on her tiptoes, leaning in-

Before stopping near his lips.

She looked up into his eyes as if she knew a secret he didn’t.

Then Atarah pulled back from him, but stayed in his arms. She looked over her shoulder. “Luna.”

Oren broke out of his daze, blinking quickly, then looked up in time to see Luna herself, grimacing, stepping out of a shadowed corner.

“I’m so sorry,” Luna whispered, staring at her feet, red coating her cheeks and the pointy ends of her ears. Oren hadn’t even registered her presence – he’d been so caught up with- “I was just walking by, and I didn’t… sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. By all means, do… carry on.”

Then she literally _ran_ away from their sight.

Oren stared after her, and Atarah turned back to him, an amused smile on her face. After a second’s pause, they both laughed.

She looked utterly adorable hiding her face on his chest.

Oren kissed her head. “We should get going.”

“Right,” Atarah said softly. “The audience with the Queen.”

Oren extended his arm to her. “My Lady?”

She crinkled her nose. “I don’t like that.”

Oren flashed a grin. “Sweetheart?”

Atarah took his arm, and kissed his cheek. “That will do.”

***

Aran was in deep, unending shit.

So. Much. Shit.

If he wanted to get any real work done, he should be erasing every thought of the spy from his head. No more thinking about Alric’s lips. No more thinking about Alric’s body. No more thinking about Alric’s devilish grin. No more.

Aran had been down this road before, and it he hadn’t liked the ending.

He let his head fall on the table, breathing hard. “Fuck,” he muttered against his papers.

_Fuck,_ was right.

He couldn’t stop replaying the quiet journey back, Alric riding beside him. His teasing comments about his title, his continuous torment with calling him “Prince”, just because Alric knew that it ticked his nerves. Hearing of Alric’s adventures, the jobs he’d gotten himself into. How he’d almost been run through with a sword for cheating at a game of cards.

“That was not my best moment, to be fair,” Alric had told him. But he’d been smiling as if he’d told a joke.

He was so…

Free. 

And dangerous.

And charming.

And so fucking cunning.

Sometimes Aran watched Alric and caught that glint in his grey eyes, and he thought, _Well, shit. Here we go again._

Other times Aran thought, _It’s fine. It’ll go away. It’s nothing._

Perhaps Aran just had a kink for people who really couldn’t give a shit about him. 

Alric never gave him the time of day. Suddenly, Aran’s charming smiles and witty remarks and smart comments didn’t mean shit next to Alric. The man saw him like Aran had never wanted to be seen.

And then, of course, there had also been Alric’s little mumbled response to him in the inn in Rosamel:

“ _I’ll never get used to that.”_

_“To what?”_

_“You.”_

Aran had been trying to decode the meaning of that interaction for hours now. He stayed awake the entire night. This morning, he had a killer headache that no amount of coffee could cure.

Aran put down his pen and stared at the window from his office. Orynth was tucked in a sheet of drizzle and fog again.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

It didn’t help that Alric was leaving tomorrow. Aran knew there were much more important things to do. The Lady of Suria was finally back, and in one piece, thank the high Gods. Luna had spent the night in the infirmary, but Aran had also been relieved to find she was faring well. She’d told him, groggily, after they’d given her the herbs for the aches:

“Didn’t leave any arm or thumb behind,” and had proudly displayed said thumb, pointing it upwards, to him and Atarah, a crooked, dazed smile on her lips.

Fenrys had let out a sob.

And Aran could not forget that his twin sister was ready to pull together a bullshit plan and play the hero.

Aran clenched his jaw.

_He’s leaving, so let him leave._

Aran looked towards the door. It didn’t have to mean anything.

_Leave it, Aran._

He was known for leaving his voice of reason behind.

And that’s exactly what Aran did. He shut the window on that voice, closed the curtains, barged out the door (the literal door, mind you…), and went to look for that damned spy with the grey eyes and cunning smile.

***

“How are you feeling?” Were Aelin’s first words to her. 

Atarah began to bow to the Queen and the Prince, but Aelin waved her off and instead rounded the table (the brand-new table, after they’d unceremoniously broken the old one), and touched her shoulders. Aelin searched her eyes, as if searching for any signs of pain. Then the Queen’s gaze landed on her hands.

“It’s okay,” Atarah whispered.

Aelin’s jaw hardened.

Then her eyes turned to Oren.

But Oren was staring at Rowan.

Atarah blinked up at him. Oren was absolutely frozen in place, and Rowan-

The moment they walked in, the Prince’s eyes had been following Oren like a hawk’s, but as Aelin turned to look over her shoulder at her mate, the look on Rowan’s eyes vanished like there had been nothing there.

But Atarah had caught it.

Something like shock.

And realization.

Aelin knew it, too. But her mate’s eyes seemed to say, _Later_.

Whatever Rowan’s reaction was about, there were more important matters right now.

As they sat down, Atarah took a deep breath. She would have to relive everything again, so she could tell Aelin and the Prince everything she was able to recall. Her heart hammered in her chest. Atarah convinced herself that telling Aelin everything Hylas had told her, everything she’d noticed in that house, would be of use to the Court, so she would have to push past the sudden burst of panic pounding at her chest like a hammer against a glass ball.

“Atarah,” Aelin said softly, eyes narrowed in worry.

“It’s fine,” Atarah repeated, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirts. She had no idea how her body managed to produce sweat when she felt so cold, to the point where her teeth were shattering.

She couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, there was a hand holding her own beneath the table.

Atarah looked over at Oren, and saw the gentleness in his eyes. The smile that had stayed with her, replaying in her chaotic mind, throughout the night, easing her heart, easing her fear.

He squeezed her hand once, so carefully. He nodded at her. _It’s okay_ , those eyes said.

But was it? She didn’t feel very okay.

Oren seemed to know it, too, for he began to speak first. Retelling the night where he’d been captured, things he remembered vaguely from the journey back, Vanserra’s little monologues, the smell of the verbena…

He was giving her a chance to catch her breath.

Even if there was a trembling in his voice, too.

Again, putting her pain before his.

Atarah squeezed back his hand.

And when it was her turn to tell her tale, Atarah leaned on that strength beside her, and she told the Prince and the Queen everything.

***

The sight of his mate almost falling apart in front of him almost shattered him, too.

When Atarah finished speaking, she took a much-needed breath, like she’d finally broken the surface after months underwater. She did not let go of his hand.

The Queen held her other hand. There was an anger in her, Oren noticed – a storm brewing behind those blue eyes, a predator’s rage in the yellow rays. But Aelin only told her, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, Atarah,” Rowan said next, his voice hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in ears. “I’m sorry, Oren. We were supposed to keep you safe.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Oren stuttered out.

“You were very brave,” Aelin said to him. “And you,” she turned her eyes to Atarah, and squeezed her other hand. “My dear girl, I’m so sorry for the scars left behind.”

Atarah didn’t speak. Oren recognized the sharp intake of breath – she’d break down if she opened her mouth. Instead, she nodded at the Queen in thanks, and squeezed back her hand.

He wanted Atarah out of here.

He wanted her resting, and safe, with her mind at ease-

“I want you both to rest,” Aelin told them both. “I’m sorry your help came from these terrible circumstances, but you _did_ help us. We owe you both a great deal.” Oren began to protest, but the Queen shook her head. “Oren, you came all the way from Doranelle to warn us. This Kingdom owes you.” Her tone closed all opportunities for discussion.

Oren wouldn’t dare to argue with a Queen.

Rowan said, “Atarah, you should write to your parents.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, suddenly. Blinking out of those nightmares. “Thank you. Thank you both. I’ll… yes. I’ll…”

Oren watched her as their hands pulled apart. She stopped to give him a look – _Will you come?_ Her eyes seem to say. Oren bowed to the Prince and the Queen, and followed her to the double doors-

“Oren.”

He froze on the spot, slowly turning to face the Prince.

Rowan smiled lightly, but there was something in his expression. Something that Oren hadn’t been able to decipher the moment he’d walked in. The Prince said, “May I have a word, please?”

Oren blinked, then looked to his mate.

Atarah gently touched his arm, and gave him a reassuring smile, just before leaving him to it.

Well, then.

_Don’t be a coward._

Aelin watched Rowan with something like curiosity, and when Oren sat back down, the Prince worked his jaw, as if he wasn’t sure what words to choose.

“Your Highness»” said Oren, blinking up at him.

Rowan finally looked up at him. Leaning back in his chair, he softly said, “May I ask where, in Doranelle, you’re from, Oren? If that’s not too intrusive.”

Not intrusive, and not exactly a strange question to be asked – that is, if it had been anyone else asking it instead of the Queen of Terrasen’s consort.

“The northern coast,” said Oren. “I lived all my life in my parents’ farm, You Highness. Worked there, too.”

Rowan raised his brow at his words. “You say _lived_. Not born.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as if she’d ask _Where are you going with this?_

Oren’s heart beat nervously now. Rowan had taken one look at him and known he hadn’t been born into his family. He’d been brought in. Which meant he recognized something in Oren’s face that Oren didn’t. The younger male breathed in, and folded his hands. “Do you mean to tell me that you know who my birth parents are, Sir?”

Rowan paused for only a second. “I guessed you did not know.”

“No,” Oren said softly. “I never searched for them.” A pause. “I never intended to.”

“Would you like to know?” Rowan asked.

“Rowan,” Aelin said, frowning.

But Rowan only looked at Oren, those eyes narrowing.

Oren paused. Did he? Did it matter?

Nothing would change.

So… what would be the harm in knowing?

“Okay,” he whispered at last.

Rowan said, “It wasn’t just your features that made me realize… In the immortal lands, your combination is not rare.” He gestured to himself, as if saying, _Here’s an example_. “But you look just like him.”

Oren gulped. “Like who?”

“Oren,” Rowan said. “You’re a Whitethorn.”

***

“Are you shitting me?”

Atarah widened her eyes. “What?”

Luna paced around her chambers, almost indignantly, bright brown eyes narrowed at her friend. “ _Mates_? I mean, I knew there was something going on between you, but… mates? How did I not see it?”

“Well,” Atarah began, leaning against the wall. She’d been a trembling mess after she left the Prince and the Queen to speak to Oren, reliving those nightmares plaguing her memory, so Atarah considered that the best course of action was to not be alone. Minutes later and the news had spilled out of her mouth. “All things considered, Luna, you were quite busy trying to, you know, save us?”

“Still,” Luna said, placing her hands on Atarah’s shoulders. “I should have seen it. Darling, I should have known right away. I’m sorry I didn’t pay closer attention.”

Atarah smiled slightly. “You’ve being dramatic. It’s not that-”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Luna said, with the fervour of a thousand excited newborn puppies. Her eyes gleamed. “Atarah, finally light amongst this darkness. A _mate_.”

“It’s not nearly as exciting as you teleporting to a whole _other_ world,” Atarah said, wishing to turn the conversation around because the heat on her cheeks was truly unbearable.

After Luna had told her, Atarah’s mouth had hung open for the remainder of the conversation. She’d missed so much. What she hadn’t missed, however, was the way Luna’s heartbeat picked up the moment she spoke a certain name.

“Don’t do that, don’t turn this on me,” Luna narrowed her eyes. “Please. Oh, gosh.” She sat down on her bed and sighed. “The universe really does some fucked up things.”

Atarah sat down next to her friend and stared into nothing. “Indeed.”

“You’re thinking about him.”

Atarah gave her friend a look. “Don’t.”

“You are, and it’s sweet,” Luna smiled, nudging her knee. “Tell me how it’s like.”

“What?”

“The mating bond,” Luna said softly. “Some say, once you realize it, it’s like bricks raining down on you. Others say they realize over time. What’s it like for you?”

Atarah thought of this.

Her heart still felt like a whole knotted mess. Torn between the panic of the last few days and… the bliss that came with the reassurance that everything was going to be fine. That it _had_ to be fine. Because it couldn’t get any worse than it already had.

Thoughtfully, she began: “Well, I don’t really know when I realized that it was true. It certainly wasn’t like a couple of bricks falling over my head, or anything of the sort. It felt… It _feels_ gentle. And simple. Like turning a leave and discovering a new shade of orange. Like it could be and become anything, but I just,” she shrugged, “feel close to him. I feel happy with him.” Atarah’s voice seemed to get lost in the high ceilings, as she murmured, “I think we can be something beautiful, mating bond or not.”

Atarah only realized that she’d spaced out when the silence became deafening. Her gaze focused as she turned to Luna, and realized that her friend was staring at the ground. Her smile had faded completely.

“Luna?” Atarah said.

Her friend breathed in, and blinked. “That’s… that’s actually really beautiful.”

Atarah’s chest constricted. “Hey,” she said to Luna, wrapping her arm around her. “What’s happened?”

Luna shook her head. “Nothing, I’m just…” she smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “that made me happy to think about.” A pause. “You know, I always thought mating bonds were utter bullshit until… until Leander.”

Luna’s heart stammered at that name, and Atarah only held her tightly. “Luna…” her friend murmured.

“It’s fine,” Luna murmured back, patting her friend’s hand.

“Let’s talk about this,” Atarah said gently, watching as Luna stood. But she felt it now, as her friend turned away. She felt Luna closing herself off.

It had been difficult.

So, so difficult.

In the months after Leander passed, no one had been able to reach her. Not even her fathers. Their letters became scarce, and while Atarah worried endlessly for her friend, she knew the most important thing was to respect Luna’s feelings. If she wanted to be alone, Atarah would not confront her about it.

Just a few months ago, Luna began to slowly, yet surely, come back to her. To come back to them all. But there was always this small part of her friend that was shadowed, a place where no one really could reach, no matter how long they extended their hand for.

Right now, Atarah could see that shadow all too well.

Luna just said, “Oren felt oddly familiar when I met him.”

Atarah considering pushing the subject when Luna was so obviously pulling away from her. The words were ready to jump out of her mouth, _Perhaps you didn’t lose a mate. Perhaps Leander wasn’t your mate_. But what good would that do? Mate or not, Luna had lost someone she’d loved, and too suddenly to properly process it. It did not matter what Leander had or could have been. Loss was loss. And it left incredible hollowness behind.

When her friend’s eyes turned to her, and Atarah was confronted with all the pain that still remained, she knew Luna was not ready to speak of it. To be confronted with it.

“I know you’re not ready to speak of it,” Atarah murmured softly, taking her friend’s hand. “But when you are, I’m here. We are all here. And I am sure that Seren is there for you, too. From what you have told me, he sounds like a good male.”

There was a pause between them, a little tremble of her bottom lip, but then Luna’s sniffed, blinked, and nodded once, squeezing Atarah’s hand. “Okay,” she whispered. There was nothing else to say.

“Now, do tell,” Atarah said, gently changing the subject. “Why did he seem familiar? Oren, I mean.”

“Doesn’t he remind you of Rowan?”

“A lot of people from Doranelle remind me of Rowan,” Atarah mused, a corner of her mouth lifting. “The Whitethorns are not the only ones with marvellous hair.”

“I don’t know,” Luna said. “Something about his eyes.” A pause. “Your children will be so beautiful.”

Atarah snorted loudly – quite an uncharacteristic sound, but it just burst out of her. “ _What_.”

“Imagine it,” Luna said, sitting back down. “Dark hair, his eyes, or, your eyes and his hair? Oh,” she sighed dreamily. “I’ll be like Aelin and have a ton of fake little nephews running around!”

“Fake nephews?” Atarah said. “That’s such a strange way to put it.”

“You know, non-blood related, but they’ll be my nephews all the same,” Luna declared, and Atarah – despite everything, despite the ache and the pain of the last few days – felt a real smile playing on her lips, that blush rising in her cheeks again. “Your wedding will be the most beautiful ceremony in the world.”

“Luna, Goddess above, will you stop?” Atarah tutted, and Luna smiled. A distraction for them both – is what this was. Atarah couldn’t deny that this is what she craved. And if she had to guess, she’d say this is what Luna needed too, so she played along: “No children in the near future, though.”

“Fine,” Luna drawled. “I guess you do have plenty of time…”

“You already have a list of names to give me, don’t you?”

Luna met Atarah’s gaze, and said, very, _very_ seriously, “Do birds fly?”

***

His scent was the easiest to track down.

It didn’t take much guessing where he’d be, either.

Orynth’s training rooms were deserted at this hour, and even though it was the middle of the morning, because the skies were so dark, and the clouds tinged this world a pale grey, it almost felt like a late evening.

Aran pushed past the double-doors, his ears catching the gentle rise and fall of Alric’s breathing, then the tight string on a bow, being stretched. The small adjustment of feet, steady on the ground.

Alric released the bow as Aran looked up at him. From here, he was faced with Alric’s back, the muscles straining under tight training leathers. Alric was lithe and tall, his contours telling endless stories of endless nights climbing roofs and fitting into small spaces and lying stretched out on a windowsill, spying out of a looking glass.

He wouldn’t have been able to hear Aran, but he felt his presence. Alric turned, and instead of meeting the spy’s eyes, Aran’s travelled to the arrows.

All five had perfectly landed in the dummy’s heart.

Aran whistled.

Alric grinned. “Prince.”

“Spy.”

Alric walked over to the bow stands in his easy, graceful manner. A line of sweat gathered at his brow, and from where he stood, Aran could see the sore pads of his fingers. He must’ve been practicing since the early hours.

“I already talked to Rowan,” Alric Nox said, choosing a different bow. Aran had no idea what made this bow different from the other, and he didn’t particularly care. A hurricane could be forming outside the window and his eyes would not turn away from Alric. “And Aedion also gave me a few pointers. I should have everything I need to go to the first location.” A pause, as he pulled a few more arrows from the cabinet. He didn’t face Aran as he continued, “Your sister came to speak to me.”

Aran’s mood became bitter. “I’m sure she did.”

“Her plan’s solid.”

“You’ll do well not to encourage her,” Aran warned.

Alric’s brow raised. His outstretched hand halted mid-way as his eyes snapped to meet Aran’s. “You think you’re able to change her mind? She seemed adamant.”

“And I’m adamant about keeping her safe,” Aran said, then approached him, reached for the last arrow, and gave it to Alric. “We can sort this out without my sister risking her life.”

Alric took the arrow. “She’ll hate you.”

“She’s not the first one,” Aran shrugged. “I’d rather have her in pieces and glaring at me than killed.”

Alric paused, as if he was considering commenting on that. But then he seemed to think better of it, and asked, instead, “You got something for me?”

Aran worked his jaw. What _was_ he doing here, indeed? Had he lost his mind, at last?

Alric watched him. “Why are you here?”

Aran breathed in. “I want clarification.”

That strange glint in those grey eyes made Aran’s breath hitch. Alric always looked halfway between smirking at you and mocking you, and right now, Aran was convinced that he was doing both. “About?”

“That day in the inn,” Aran began. “You said you could never get used to me. What did you mean?”

A pause. Alric’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, like he was lost in thought, analysing him the way no one else had ever bothered to. At last, Alric said easily, “You know what I meant.”

Then he strutted away, bow over his shoulder, arrows in his pocket.

He-

Aran blinked, then called out, “I appreciate when people are clear about flirting with me.”

Alric stopped in front of another dummy, only three steps away from Aran, and sniffed. Positioning the bow, Alric grabbed an arrow. For a second, as he aimed, Alric didn’t speak. Aran mesmerized the hard line of his jaw, the sensual lips, the haunting eyes, his body turning to molten lava right then and there.

One arrow fired.

Bull’s eye.

Alric grabbed another arrow. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you since I met you,” he said, positioning the arrow. Barely sparing Aran a glance.

Aran’s entire chest seemed to implode.

He cleared his throat, and muttered, “Come again?”

Alric released the arrow. Aran followed its trajectory, too lost for words to say anything else as the tip buried itself on the dummy’s neck.

“I _said_ ,” Alric grabbed yet another one, “I’ve been flirting with you for ages.”

But that-

That couldn’t be possible.

“Did the humble human make the Prince speechless?” 

Alric released the arrow – it landed exactly in the middle of the dummy’s knee. Alric could have done it with his eyes closed.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious,” Alric murmured, grabbing the last arrow. “You’re just blind and oblivious, which is adorable on a good day, but on a bad day, it just sets my teeth on edge a little.”

_Woosh_.

The last arrow landed right on the dummy’s heart.

Alric lowered the bow and turned to Aran. “If it was as easy as that, putting an arrow into your chest to make you look at me, then I would have already done it.”

Aran watched the man warily. “If you’re taking the piss, know it’s not funny.”

But Alric’s brow was furrowed, and he wasn’t snickering, or smirking or mocking Aran. There was a seriousness to him. He looked so serious, in fact, that he almost looked brooding.

Aran had no words to describe how attractive that made Alric.

The spy said, “Listen, Aran, I’m not good at this. I don’t chase others. Not because I have a weird complex or I think myself above it, but because of what I do.” He dropped the bow on the floor, not bothering with it anymore. He faced Aran, never turning his eyes away. “I never know what tomorrow might bring for me. Tomorrow might bring nothing but my death. People don’t usually want to stick around for that.”

Aran paused, taking in the words.

_Fuck. Fuck. What the fucking fuck. What the –_

“People don’t usually stick around for me, either,” he murmured, his voice sounding low and dazed to him. He shrugged, and said, “So I get that. I just didn’t-” 

Alric took two steps closer, and Aran’s instincts shot to the surface, urging him to move. Towards Alric or away from him, Aran wasn’t exactly sure.

Every nerve on his body tensed, every hair stood, as Alric’s eyes took in every single feature on Aran’s face. In the back of his mind, as he was trying and failing to regulate his breathing, Aran realized that no one had ever looked at him like that.

He felt naked.

Exposed in a way that should have bothered him.

“If that was you flirting, then I fail to imagine how you look at someone you have no interest in,” Aran managed to let out.

Alric’s face lit up in a smile. Crinkles – in his eyes, in the corners of his mouth. His teeth were sharp as his lips stretched, and the breath that fell from his lips, leaning towards exasperation rather than amusement, touched a place in Aran’s chest that hadn’t been awoken in a long, long time.

_Ah, shit._

_You’re done for,_ Aran told himself. _You’re absolutely done for, you fucker. All it took was a spy._

“Subtlety really is dead, isn’t it?” Alric said.

“ _That_ particular level of subtlety, yes.” 

“Apologies for putting all the blame on you,” Alric murmured, “but in my defence, you _were_ utterly oblivious, Prince.”

“Don’t call me that-”

Aran could have seen it coming, if he hadn’t been so distracted.

But the moment when Alric touched his cheeks and leaned in, flew right over Aran’s head, and then Aran had Alric’s lips pressing against his in the most breathless, enchanting sort of first kiss.

Aran breathed in sharply, but his hands were already moving to touch Alric’s leathers, bunching the clothes in his hands, pulling Alric closer, as close as he could get him.

Alric was slightly taller. Just slightly. Enough to touch Aran’s chin and raise his head, to meet his kiss.

Aran was beyond himself.

Out of his damned mind.

Reality slowly began to sink down on him as Alric gently pushed him against the cabinet behind them, his hips against Aran’s, his hot breath against his lips, his thumbs marking his two dimples.

Aran couldn’t breathe.

It appeared Alric was suffering from the same affliction.

In more ways than one.

Letting out a soft breath of a laugh, Alric touched his brow to Aran’s, and murmured, “Sorry. I should have asked.” 

“Permission granted,” Aran murmured back, opening his eyes to see Alric’s gaze hovering on his mouth.

Alric swallowed hard. “So, to make everything explicitly clear: I like you. Sort of a lot.”

“Oh,” Aran whispered.

“And I want you.”

“Gods,” Aran said.

Alric smiled. Really smiled. But mischief shined in his eyes, as Alric’s hand cupped Aran’s cheek. “What did you come here for?” He teased. “To seduce me?”

“I don’t really know,” Aran said, toying with a few buttons of Alric’s shirt. “I guess I couldn’t let you leave without making my feelings known.”

Alric kissed the corner of Aran’s mouth, so sweetly, his voice dripping honey, “I’m glad.” He kissed the centre of Aran’s lips. “I might have lost my mind and gone to find you.”

Aran pulled back slightly, just to look at Alric. Suddenly, Aran had the distinct feeling of standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down into foggy, unknown depths. What awaited him there if he fell? He’d only be able to tell if he took the jump.

Alric’s eyes seemed to be begging him to take the jump.

Something in the spy’s face retracted from Aran then. The Lord of Caraverre realized he’d been silent for a while, just staring open-mouthed. Alric began to pull away gently, “I’m sorry. It was sudden-”

Aran pulled him in again. “Where are you going?” He breathed.

Alric’s brows rose, and that smile came back. “Wherever you want,” he said. “Wherever you want us to go.”

Aran could just-

Tentatively, almost shyly, with slightly trembling hands, Aran tugged at Alric’s shirt, and the male leaned again, meeting his lips.

It was a whole tempest.

Like the worst storm imaginable, raging inside Aran’s chest. Would Alric know? Would Alric be able to tell without listening to Aran’s heart?

He showed him.

Sweet – his kiss was sweet and tentative and exploring. Alric’s hands drifted from Aran’s cheeks to his neck, to his shoulders, to his chest, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch him. Aran deepened the kiss and Alric’s body melded with his, a rampage of angry butterflies swimming around on Aran’s abdomen.

Alric took Aran’s lip between his teeth.

Every instinct narrowed to that one thing.

Alric’s teeth on him. 

He wanted him everywhere.

Anywhere.

Aran was pressed harder into the cabinet, and the arrows rattled inside. Without thinking, too lost to find himself, Aran slipped his hands beneath Alric’s tunic, the leather cold and inviting against his touch. 

Alric pulled back, breaking the kiss. 

It was so sudden that Aran’s hands froze.

The spy stayed close. He smiled, and Aran was falling, falling falling.

He whispered, “If you think I’m about to fuck you in a training room for the first time, then you really misunderstood what I want from you, Prince.”

“What do you want?” Breathless. Aran’s lungs no longer worked.

Alric swallowed hard. “I want everything you are willing to give me.”

Aran’s mind swirled. “I didn’t take you for a romantic poet.”

“Didn’t you?” Alric teased, one finger underneath Aran’s chin. “I could write you a few poems. I could write them all over your neck, your chest, your-”

“You could kiss me, also.”

“Ah, wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Hmmm,” Aran hummed, eyes fluttering shut as Alric touched his lips to the corner of his mouth – not quite where Aran wanted him, but it would do.

“When I come back, we’ll sort it out,” Alric said, his tone unusually soft.

“I don’t know what that means,” Aran said, a little hopeless.

Alric only grinned, a glint in his grey eyes. “It means,” he murmured, touching Aran’s cheeks, “that when I come back, you will tell me exactly what you want from me, and we will see to it.”

***

Oren’s mouth was dry.

Whatever he’d prepared himself to hear… that was not it.

That was _not_ it.

Rowan lowered his head sympathetically, even as Aelin widened her eyes, staring at her mate as if he’d grown a third eye. He said to Oren, “I would not have told you lest I knew for certain. But I know your father well, Oren. We grew up together. Arwel is my cousin.”

“Arwel.” Oren tasted the name on his tongue, finding it bitter. A prince. His father was a Whitethorn prince.

At Aelin’s further confusion, Rowan said to her quietly, “Enda’s brother. You must have only gotten a glimpse of Arwel during the war.” That would explain why Aelin had not recognized him as Rowan had.

“My father is Endymion’s brother?” Oren whispered. Endymion – another war hero. Oren’s mind swirled with stories and legends about the Whitethorn Prince – the wise one, they called him.

Aelin said nothing. Her eyes softened, as she turned her gaze to Oren.

Oren did not have words, not as Rowan said, “That is right.” A pause. “You told us about your second-form, which is not rare amongst the Fae. But you are unmistakably your father’s son.”

The young male swallowed hard. He seemed to fold in on himself at the realization. His clothes were too tight again.

“Listen,” Rowan said. “Endymion is on his way – we need to discuss this threat since it has appeared to reach Doranelle, too. If you wish, Oren, I know Enda would be delighted to meet you. I do not know how you came to be with your family.” Oren noticed the tick in Rowan’s jaw. “But if anyone has the answers is Enda – and Arwel. The decision to meet or speak to either of them is yours.” Rowan leaned forward. “If you do not wish for it to be known, this will stay between us, and neither myself nor my mate will speak of it to anyone else.”

To give him that choice – it was more than Oren could ask for.

“I think I’m in a bit of a shock,” Oren muttered. “Thank you for telling me, Sir.”

Rowan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, flashing green. “Call me Rowan, please.”

Oren almost choked. “I could never.”

Surprisingly, Rowan let out a low laugh. Aelin smiled. “Perhaps with time, then. You’ve done much for us, Oren. This is the least I can do for you.”

Oren needed to lie down. He needed a dark room, to close his eyes, and discipline his breathing, his mind, into submission. How he managed to stay seated upright and speak calmly was beyond him. “Thank you. Both of you.”

And when he was at last in the chambers that had been kindly gifted to him, only then did Oren allow himself to panic.

A Whitethorn.

Like Rowan had said – his appearance, his form, they weren’t unusual. Oren could have never guessed, never figured it out…

He hadn’t bothered to, either.

His family had always been unquestionably _his_. Oren had spent his early years closing that gap in his heart with the thought that whoever had brought him into this world had not found him worthy enough to keep, and that thought alone had been enough for Oren to never ask, never question, where he came from.

He’d been too frightened of the possible answers.

And now – he was Rowan’s family.

Endymion was on his way with answers, if Oren dared to reach out and search for them.

But – would he?

_Could_ he?

***

That day, in the gardens of Spring, Seren told his father everything.

Including his mate.

His eyes watered from time to time as he retold the story, his heart aching with both the need to touch her, to be near her, but mostly to know that she was alright. That the threat in her world was no more, and that she’d be safe, and back in his arms, and-

His father was silent for a long, long time after Seren had finished speaking. He never expected Rhysand to be angry, or disappointed that he’d hidden the truth for a while. But he hadn’t expected thoughtful, calm silence, either.

After a while, Seren muttered, “You agree with Naza. It’s dangerous.”

Rhysand pursed his lips, and leaned back on that stone bench. “She is not entirely wrong.”

The fear struck him like a cold wave inside his stomach. In that moment, Seren thought the worst.

“I would never push you away from your mate, son,” Rhysand said suddenly, a gentle whisper, his violet eyes turning to Seren. And then – turning to look at his own mate in the far distance, her arm locking with Mor’s. He said, “I know the feeling, believe it or not. I could never extend that same cruelty to you.”

“I know,” Seren said back.

Rhysand looked at him for a few seconds. “Son, I trust you.”

Just that. _I trust you._

“I can’t give up on her, not like this,” Seren murmured. “Not when I know what could be.”

It was his father’s turn to say, “I know.” A pause. “Whatever you choose to do from now on, I’m here. And I trust you. If opening up Velaris to the unknown is what it takes for you to be happy, then I will open those doors myself.”

Seren began to smile. “I think that’s rather unnecessarily.”

His father was serious. “Whatever you need. Yes?”

Seren sniffed slightly, and nodded. “Thank you.”

A corner of Rhysand’s mouth lifted. “I know you think the universe must be against you to give you a mate in another world. But remember that that happened with your mother and I. The chances of ever finding her were small, son. She still came to me, just as Luna came to you.” He smiled wider. “And you do have to admit that you’re in a much better position than your poor brother is.”

Seren’s eyes snapped to Rhys. “He told you.”

Rhys nodded. “Your mother also knows.”

Seren let out a long breath. “He’s always been better and braver than I am.”

Rhysand took his son’s hand, squeezing it. “It’s going to be alright. For both of you.”

Seren could have burst into sobs. But he managed to keep himself together and let out a low, “Thank you, dad.” Without spilling a tear.

“You should talk to your mother at the end of the day, before we leave,” Rhys said.

“How did she react to Aidan?”

Rhysand gave his son a look. “There could be potential tears.”

“I guessed as much.”

“But in other words – your mother will stand by you no matter what. We both will. Always.”

“I know,” Seren whispered. “I know.”

***

_A week later…_

Cassian stared down at the unconscious girl, his breath catching at the unsteady, weak beat of her heart. He had to remind himself that that was just how human hearts were supposed to work, but the yellowing bruises on the girl’s skin were not a reassurance.

“How did she come to be here?” Cassian asked Fergus.

The leader of the camp shook his head. “We don’t know, Commander. Poor thing has been asleep for half a day now. I gave her some herbs so she’d have a restful sleep.”

“You did well,” Cassian said, taking in her features, her strange clothes. “Thank you, Fergus.”

Saskia peeked at the girl from over her husband’s shoulder. “Will she be taken away?”

Cassian stood, then turned to the Illyrian. He nodded once. “She doesn’t belong here, Saskia. She’s in danger. And she could put you and your camp in danger.”

Saskia’s eyes darkened slightly as she shook her head. “Danger,” she tutted. “We could protect her.” She gave her husband a look. “Couldn’t we?”

Fergus pulled his wife closer, a protective hand around her waist. “We should let the girl go, Sas. She probably already has a family.” A pause. “She’s not a stray cat.”

Saskia pulled away abruptly. “I know that,” she snapped. Then wrapped her arms around herself.

“We need to question her when she wakes.”

Saskia blinked. “Question her? Commander, she poses no danger to us.”

Cassian raised both his brows. “Have you looked inside her bag?”

Saskia took a step back, and swallowed hard. She’d refused to. It had felt like an invasion. Even if the girl didn’t belong there.

Cassian said, “We won’t hurt her, Saskia. You know that. But I need to bring her to Rhys. We need to know why she’s here, if she’s brought anyone else.”

“Be careful with her,” Saskia warned, as Cassian slowly picked the human up in his arms. “She’s just a girl.” 

Cassian nodded curtly, and vowed, “No harm shall come to her.”

***

“What did you see?”

Rhysand’s back straightened like a rope had been pulled from his spine. Cassian’s eyes turned to the girl – they’d placed her on the bed in one of the spare rooms in the House of Wind. She slept soundly, her breathing worryingly shallow. Whatever herbs Fergus had given her, they’d kept her in a deep, healing sleep, her bruises already fading, albeit slowly. She hadn’t stirred on the flight back.

The High Lord of the Night Court stayed silent for a few, tense seconds. Cassian paced around. “Rhys?” He insisted.

Rhysand slowly replayed what he’d seen in the girl’s mind – textbooks, colourful writing, laughing, a mother’s face, paintings, salt air, nightmares, curiosity, panic. He flipped all the pages that had no meaning to him, and then- Rhysand halted. There – his son’s face. His son’s smile. Hidden in the back of her mind as if the image of him had been stitched there. Fingertips dragging down wet stones. And then-

Then – mountains. Tenebrous, unfamiliar mountains. A shadow. A threat. Hands around her throat, cutting off her breath. Struggle. More panic. Family. Darkness.

Rhysand opened his eyes at last.

“This is Aidan’s mate,” he whispered.


	20. Chapter 20

Astrid Archeron had a special ability to know when something was not quite right.

Like animals, feeling the incoming storms in their bones before there were signs of dark clouds. Like flowers, shielding themselves when their sun abandoned them, awaiting the night ahead.

Astrid Archeron knew her cousin was not fine.

They’d just gotten home a few days back from Spring, and to say things were chaotic would be a total understatement.

Things had gone to shit.

Astrid had felt the tension in the air, hovering above them all, as Jerek Vanserra passed those double doors into the Manor. Whatever conversation had ensued inside with the new High Lord of Spring, it hadn’t been good. Andras’ face had been closed off for the rest of the day, which would be understandable given that he’d lost his father, but… the evidence of something else equally terrible weighed on his shoulders, on his dark eyes.

Eris wanted a war.

Rumour had it that Eris had released the naga that had killed Tamlin into Spring. He wanted the Courts vulnerable. To what end, Astrid did not know.

And she didn’t want to think about it, either.

Especially now, when Aidan sat by her in the garden with a tense jaw.

Astrid kneeled on the grass beside him, wrapping her arms around the dead tulips. Foxes had been stepping on them during the night. With a bit of concentration, the tulips slowly began to regrow underneath Astrid’s touch, and when she pulled her hand back, the purples and reds were vivid, the stems strong, the petals arched toward the skies.

Aidan watched her with those brows furrowed.

“What is on your mind?” Astrid finally asked, so gently.

“Why do you think anything’s on my mind?” Aidan murmured.

Astrid sat back on her heels, staring at her cousin. “Well, I doubt you came here for gardening tips.”

Aidan’s mouth curled at the corner, just slightly. But his eyes were dark. Worried, even.

“You can speak freely,” Astrid said softly. “You know that.”

Aidan sighed heavily, then fell back with his head on Astrid’s lap. “I don’t fucking know, Az. That’s the thing. I don’t know what is up with me.”

“Well,” Astrid said, keeping her voice as soothing as she could. If only her healing abilities worked on people. She gently ran her hands through her cousin’s hair, and said, “you lost your mate, Aidan. It _is_ a loss, even if you might think otherwise. I think you need to take some time to heal.”

“So, like, disappear for a while?”

“If that’s what you wish to do.”

“Everything with you is always so uncomplicated,” he murmured, staring at the skies. “I wish I had your mind.”

Astrid smiled slightly. “No, you don’t.”

A pause. “I think you’re right,” Aidan murmured. “I think I need to go away. Just for a few days. But-“

“But what?”

“My brother,” Aidan said. “Seren’s not been having it easy, either. It’s been a week, and Luna has not said a word, and Seren has no way to go to her. It’s tough. With everything that’s going on in her side of the world… Seren is panicking that she might be hurt. I need to be here for him.”

Astrid hesitated. Then, she said, “What about you?”

Aidan shrugged. “I need to suck it up.”

“I hate when people say that,” Astrid frowned. “That’s not the way you should deal with pain, you know? It’s ineffective. You deserve to heal, too. Be there for Seren, but don’t neglect your pain – none of us are.”

Aidan breathed in, as if the words had touched that part of his heart that was so, so damaged. “But then there’s also Eris.”

“It’s not our problem for the moment,” Astrid said to him. “If Eris decides to create a war with Spring, then we will step up. In the meantime, don’t think ahead. You know what that does to you.”

Aidan did not speak for a long time.

He lay there, with his cousin brushing his hair away from his face like she did when they were younglings, staring at the sky. Aidan didn’t know how this… separation of worlds worked. He didn’t know if María would be looking at the same sky. Thinking that she was comforted him a bit. Just a bit. His chest constricted.

“I miss her,” he whispered.

Astrid nodded in silence. “I know.” A pause. “As for your worry… get it out of you. Nothing bad has happened. I promise.”

“Yet,” he breathed.

“No,” Astrid tutted. “That’s not what we talked about.”

“Okay.” Aidan tried, “Nothing bad has happened.”

“And nothing bad will happen in the near future.”

Aidan snorted. “Now, Az, that’s just pushing our luck a little bit.”

Astrid sighed, then turned her gaze to the tulips, now restored, healed, filled with life. “There’s nothing wrong with hoping,” she said.

***

“Aidan needs to know.”

“You will be lucky if your son’s heart doesn’t fail him,” Cassian said, arms crossed in the main room, staring at the High Lord of the Night Court with a feeling not unlike fear. He said, “Do you think it’s wise?”

“Hiding the fact that his mate is here is not an option,” Rhys said. “Whatever the reason as to why she’s here, it is his right to know. Cauldron’s sake, imagine if it was Nesta.”

Cassian’s face hardened. “You really didn’t see any bad intentions?” 

“No,” Rhysand said, pacing around. “Her mind, though. I never saw a mind quite like hers.”

“What do you mean?”

“These… humans, they’re curious. _She’s_ curious. Smart. But somehow torn between thinking she might have imagined it all, imagined him, and wanting to know everything. Right now, she does not know if she should be scared of him, or fall in love with him.”

Cassian swallowed. “You’ll let it happen?”

“It’s not up to me. You know that.”

“Letting this girl in… who else might she tell?” Cassian said, staring at the open balcony doors, to the blue skies beyond. To the city he loved, and protected, his entire life. “Who else might she bring?”

Rhys sat down. “I don’t think she will tell anyone. I heard it in her thoughts. I saw it, too. There was a moment…” Rhys lowered his eyes. He tried to flip through all the thoughts that appeared to be too private, and yet, everything he saw made him feel incredibly guilty. The girl wasn’t dangerous. And even if he _had_ to check, for his family’s sake and safety, he still felt terrible about invading the poor girl’s mind in such a way. “There was a moment where she debated it. She was speaking to someone. Someone close, from the looks of it. Perhaps a friend, or a family member. She considered spilling everything. But she shut it down immediately. She does not think anyone might believe her. And she is afraid that they will think her crazy.”

“Do they really have no notion of Fae?”

“We’re stories to them,” Rhysand murmured. “But there are hidden Fae creatures in her world. A mermaid tried to kill her. It scented Aidan on her.”

“Fuck,” Cassian let out.

“I know.” A long, long pause. “Whatever he chooses to do, I will stand beside him. I have to.”

Cassian paused, staring at his brother. He tried to put himself in Aidan’s shoes, tried to imagine it was Nesta in that bed. He would wish to know. He would want that choice. No matter what.

“So will I,” Cassian said at last. “Always.”

***

Seren had been circling Naza’s apartment for a good half-hour now, and he could not, for the life of him, bring himself to knock.

He really was a fucking coward.

She hadn’t bothered to mutter a word to him in Spring. Not even ever since they’d come back. Her silence weighed more on him than if it had been anyone else’s.

Seren needed his best friend back.

But he’d need to apologize first.

Sighing quietly to himself, Seren made for the front steps, lowering himself as quietly as he could. But the moment his feet touched the gravel, she was pushing her door open like a hurricane passing through.

Naza narrowed her eyes. “Are you done flying around on my roof? I’ve work to do.”

Seren gulped. “Naz…”

She tapped her foot, waiting.

Seren said, “I am a prick.”

“Nicely noted.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“Again, wonderful observation.”

Seren breathed in. “I need my best friend back.” Even if her face didn’t change, and Naza’s jaw was still tense, he could see her eyes flash at his words. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it. Deep down, I realized that you were right, of course you were. And like you said, I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. Opening up Velaris to Luna’s world would be dangerous, and an uncalculated risk.” A pause. “I cannot give her up. She is just as important as the vow we made to Velaris and its people, but I promise I will honour them both.”

Naza watched him for a tense moment.

Seren thought she’d close the door on his face.

But she rolled her eyes, and just said, “Come in, then.”

Seren didn’t hesitate – he lunged for her, and wrapped his cousin up in a tight hug, her feet leaving the ground. Hesitating, but for only half a second, Naza slowly wrapped her arms around him too. “Bloody idiot,” she murmured.

“I am,” he admitted, putting her down. “An idiot who missed you.”

Naza blinked away whatever emotion he’d brought up in her and shrugged. “I’m not surprised. What _would_ you do without me?”

“Cry, probably.”

“That does sound like you.”

Seren grinned, and his chest filled with endless relief when Naza smiled, too. She said, “Come on, I’m supposed to meet my dad at the House.”

“I thought you were working.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Naza said. “I only said that to make you feel guilty.” 

Seren narrowed his eyes as he watched her close the door and brace her wings for flight. When Naza took to the skies, Seren shook his head, and muttered, “Well, it worked.” Then followed suit.

***

María had the strangest dreams.

Sometimes it felt like a heavy stone lived inside her chest in the place where her heart should be. Sometimes it felt as if she was floating, hovering in mid-air.

She saw a face, in her dreams.

A beautiful face.

It should have scared her, but a gentle voice eased her, _It’s alright._

_I’m not going to hurt you._

_Who are you?_ That voice asked.

_No one,_ but her mouth would not move. She could not move.

Memories flashed in her dreams, as pleasant as a bed of feathers. Pages of her mind, flicked so slowly, treated as carefully as expensive silk. Aidan smiled at her, and she smiled at him. Her body hovered above the water, his warmth against her, his arms around her, his lips so close that she would only have to lean in and-

Her mind wandered further.

She was drowning.

Claws dug into her ankle, a cold, sinking feeling at the bottom of her stomach, telling her, _You are going to die, and no one will hear you._

The wind brushing past her wet clothes. A warm jacket that smelled like home, even if that was not how home had ever smelled to her. A gentle voice, gentler eyes begging her not to be afraid.

But she was so afraid.

She was always so afraid.

Violet eyes peeked through the pages. Her own voice played back, like a broken record. _I am not crazy, I am not crazy._

_They will not believe me._

_It’s real, it’s real, it’s real._

María – no, those violet eyes – saw her hand pushing over wet stones. Then that same feeling, like something terrible might happen, as the buzzing sound became sirens-

 _What do you want?_ That voice whispered.

That weight inside her chest eased. She felt warm, all over. Safe. At last. _What do I want?_ She thought. _I want to know._

_I want to see him._

That voice pulled back from her.

María felt cold again.

***

Aidan had every intention to go to his own home.

So it was a wonder that he found himself soaring through the city, towards the House of Wind. He almost stopped halfway through and turned back, shaking his head to himself. He did this everytime. Aidan could not count on both his hands the number of times he’d walked into a particular room in his apartment only to then think, _“What, in the Cauldron’s boiling waters, am I doing here?”_ Or flown one way, then remembered, like a bright line had finally shined on his brain, _This is totally the wrong way._

After his conversation with Astrid, Aidan had felt… distracted.

Not in his right mind.

But something led him to the House that afternoon. Something inexplicable, much like that sinking feeling in that back of his mind that he hadn’t been able to get rid of for days now. He couldn’t rid himself of the voice that told him, _Something is not right, Aidan. Get ready, Aidan._

_For what?_ He wanted to scream. _For what, damn it?_

What a convenient time for that voice to go silent on him.

Perhaps it was his own mind’s doing, a sign that Aidan should not be alone right now.

The moment he soared above the House, his gut churned. Like someone had landed an impressive right hook over his ribs, like he’d swallowed rocks and now they were weighing him down, down, down. As Aidan got closer, and closer, and closer, his forehead dripped sweat. His palms were clammy. And as he lowered himself into one of the balconies, Aidan knew.

_She’s here._

He only had time to register both his brother and Naza watching him from the main room, wide-eyed and a little uncertain, moving towards him as if they wanted to restrain him-

“She’s here,” Aidan let out, wings folding behind him, as he pushed past his cousin and his brother to walk inside-

What happened next was something close to a blur.

A part of Aidan’s brain that registered her scent also registered it all over his uncle Cassian. That same part also heard her shallow breathing from the room upstairs. That voice suddenly made sense. _Something is not right_. She was hurt.

Listen-

He did say he was out of his mind.

Do not blame him for connecting the wrong dots.

His mind formed one possible path. His mate was here. She was hurt. And Cassian reeked of her.

It was Naza that realized it first, as she followed his gaze and found it locked on Cassian- “No,” she said, lunging towards him like a snake before a bite. “Wait, Aidan-”

Aidan moved before anyone could touch him.

But Cassian was expecting it.

He dodged Aidan easily, grabbed the back of his tunic, and pushed him against the wall, cutting off his breathing.

Aidan barely registered his father slowly moving towards them.

Cassian said, very calmly, “Kid, I get it. I do. But I need you to calm down.”

Aidan growled out, and sank his nails into Cassian’s arms. “ _Why is she here-“_

“Aidan,” Rhysand said. “You need to listen.”

He was beyond himself.

“Hey,” Cassian said, his voice like thunder. Surprisingly, Aidan stopped struggling, perhaps with shock, perhaps because of the trembling waves now making him unable to move, perhaps because Cassian’s grip had cut off his breathing. “Your mate is _fine_. Now, you pipe the fuck down, Aidan. You will not walk into that room in that state. Listen to your father, and snap out of it. You hear me?”

That was the voice of the man who trained him.

Not his uncle, or his friend, but the voice of the Commander.

Even Seren stepped back.

Aidan breathed hard, but didn’t say a word.

“I will release you now,” Cassian said. “If you promise to behave.”

He wasn’t a _child_. He needed to see his mate-

“Aidan, your mind is screaming,” Rhysand told him. “Listen to what I’m saying. María is fine.”

“Get out of my head,” Aidan snarled.

Cassian tightened his grip on him.

Aidan’s lungs constricted.

_She’s fine. Breathe. She is alive. She is alive._

“I didn’t hurt her,” Cassian said. “Do you believe me?”

No. Yes.

Perhaps. 

_She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine._

Slowly, Aidan managed to nod.

Cassian put him down. “Sorry, Kid. This was for your own safety.”

Aidan’s back slid against the wall. He almost couldn’t hold himself up.

“Your mate found a way in,” Rhysand began.

Aidan could not speak.

So his father spoke for him. He told Aidan everything.

***

“You had no right to get in her mind,” Aidan said, his voice a whisper, because he couldn’t really trust himself to speak. They’d sat him down, and he’d stayed quiet all the way through his father’s retelling.

He barely processed it. His mate had almost been killed. Once he _found_ them-

“They’re already being taken care of,” Rhysand said quietly. “They’ll be punished.”

“I said,” Aidan looked up. “Get out of my head.”

Rhysand stared at him. “I know I had no right to invade your mate’s mind. But I had to know her motives.”

“ _Speaking_ to her was completely out of the cards?”

“Aidan,” Rhysand said, “we don’t know when María is going to wake up. I had to know if there was anyone else coming.”

“She _wouldn’t_ -“

“But _we_ didn’t know.” It was Naza that spoke. Only minutes before he’d arrived, Cassian had been telling her and Seren the story of how he’d found his mate. “She’s safe, Aidan. That’s all that matters.”

Aidan closed his eyes, his head in his hands.

“You saved her,” he muttered to Cassian.

Cassian placed a hand over Aidan’s back, patting it gently. “Fergus and Saskia did. They’re the ones you should thank.”

“Fuck,” Aidan whispered. “Fuck.”

“It was just a scare,” Seren said to him, on his right side. He took his brother’s hand. “She’s okay.”

Aidan breathed in. “I need to see her.”

The silence in the room made him look up. Rhysand said, “The bruises are visible still. I need you not to lose it with her in there.”

Aidan clenched his jaw. “I won’t lose it.”

“Take a second to calm down, first.”

“Dad, I’m _fine_.”

“Clearly,” Naza said.

Aidan dragged his eyes to her. Naza was smart enough not to say anything else.

“Let me see her,” Aidan said.

Cassian and Rhysand watched each other for a second. Then Rhysand breathed in. “Go ahead.”

***

His mate looked cold.

Her face was turned to the ceiling, her body strangely still. Her hair was a mess of tangles around her face, and her bag lay neatly placed on the side of the bed, along with her strange, colourful shoes.

Aidan counted to three before he passed the threshold.

His wings fluttered in nervousness at the sight of her. Aidan walked slowly to the side of the bed, his eyes trailing over the bruises her hair had failed to hide. He had the distinctive urge to break something.

But he reminded himself – no. This was not the time.

His cousin’s words rang in his mind, _She’s safe, Aidan. That’s what matters._

So, Aidan just kneeled beside her, elbows on the mattress. He listened to her heartbeat, to her breathing, his hand itching to touch hers. The herbs Fergus had given her were slowly working on those bruises, but Aidan was certain it would take some time for them to completely fade. If they ever would. What did he know about humans’ ability to heal?

Aidan swallowed hard.

She was there with him.

“How did you manage it?” He asked her softly, reaching out to brush his fingers against hers. Aidan pulled back when her fingers stirred. “There’s only one way in… how did you find it?”

And then he realized she had unconsciously been reaching for him.

He tried again, slowly. The pads of his fingers met hers – and then again. Her own fingers moved, searching for his. Aidan watched that movement like a hawk. She was searching for him, even now.

“Forgive me,” he whispered.

He slid his fingers over hers, and sniffed slightly as her palm met his. Her face remained unchanged.

Beneath all that despair and that pain, there was a glimmer of joy. Aidan thought he’d never see her again, and… there she was. But the circumstances of her being there almost erased whatever happiness Aidan could find buried in the mess of his heart.

Since they’d met, his mate had been close to being killed two times already.

If that was not a sign that he should have never opened the door to the possibility of having her-

Then Aidan did not know what else to call it.

***

“A Whitethorn,” Atarah murmured that afternoon, as her and Oren strode through the Orynth gardens, their elbows brushing, three guards flanking them. Despite them being a few steps back, Atarah still felt compelled to look over her shoulder from time to time. _This is for safety reasons,_ she reminded herself. _No one is about to grab me._ Still – she wished they’d just disappear. Instead, she focused on Oren’s words, imagining his conversation with Rowan, how he might have felt. “But that must be good, right?”

Oren hesitated. “I don’t really know what to feel yet, if I’m being honest. I’m not certain of anything at the moment.”

Atarah sympathized. There was an ache in her heart – at seeing the dark circles under his eyes, the strain in the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t slept for days. The urge to touch him irked her, so Atarah, so gently, brushed her hand with his. Her heart soared when Oren slipped his fingers through hers. Her bandages were gone, but the scars left behind…

Of course, like all things, they would fade.

But until they did…

“Endymion is supposed to arrive this evening,” Atarah said softly. “Whatever you might choose, you’re still the same person. Your family is still your family. Unquestionably.”

Oren stopped, and Atarah halted, too. Oren touched her cheek gently, then pushed back a few loose curls. He said, “And you’re bound for Suria, soon.”

She swallowed hard. “We don’t have to speak of it.”

Oren’s brows furrowed the slightest bit.

The guards stopped a few feet away, giving them a moment of privacy. But it felt like they were being heard by the entire world. Atarah said, “My feelings won’t change.”

They had much to talk about. So much to say to each other. And still so much to know about one another.

“When this is all over, and it’s safe,” Oren said, taking a step closer. “I can come to you. If you’d like. I never saw the coast of Suria.”

Atarah attempted a smile, but suddenly her chest felt constricted.

Oren knew it, too. His thumb ran across her bottom lip as he whispered, “You’re safer there. You know that.”

A slow breath fell out of her lips. “I do know. It still hurts to leave, despite everything.” She lowered her voice. “It feels like I’m running away.”

“You almost lost your life,” Oren said.

“So you like to remind me,” she smiled.

Oren didn’t return that smile. “You’re not running away. You deserve to feel safe, Atarah. You’ve done so much. Too much.”

And despite the guards, despite everything, Oren leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. “When this is all over, and we have time, you’ll have me. Through every minute of your day, if that’s what you want.”

Atarah sighed softly, and closed her eyes. She buried her face on his chest, and said, “You’ll have me, too. Always.”

***

Eva Ashryver felt an invisible cold breeze brush her spine. She pulled her cardigan closer to her body, her breath visible as it brushed the window.

She could feel him before she heard him.

Ragnar walked into her chambers with heavy footsteps, dragging his feet until he reached her. Eva didn’t turn. She felt his arms envelop her, and his warmth seeped through her as if she’d neared flames. Her eyes fluttered shut as he buried his face on her neck.

Orynth remained awaiting news since Alric Nox and his spies had left those walls. Eva had felt tense, more so than usual, walking around the halls like a ghost, leaving a track of nervous footsteps in her wake. She couldn’t sleep. Although that also had partly to do with the steady heartbeat beside her, and the lips that didn’t seem to get enough of her. Restlessness had become her shadow, and that shadow had been as dark as night.

But here, in her mate’s arms, some of that went away. That shadow grew smaller.

“Hey,” he said against her skin.

Eva shivered underneath that cardigan. “Hello.”

“Thought I’d leave you to sleep for a while longer,” Ragnar said, slipping his hands into her pockets. “Did it work?”

She could’ve told him that she hadn’t managed to rest the entire night. Not even after he’d covered her with kisses. She could’ve also told him that when Ragnar had slipped from her bed, it had left her cold for the entire day, until that very moment. But instead, Eva turned in his arms, buried her face on his chest, and said, “I’m scared.”

Because there was no hiding it from him, so why would she even attempt it?

Ragnar let out a breath, and tightened his arms around her. “I know,” he said. “I’m scared, too.”

Eva hesitated. She closed her eyes against his chest, praying, “Stay and leave me to go on my own.”

“No.”

Eva swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can shift your face, too.”

“You have been doing it beautifully,” Ragnar said back.

Eva pulled back slightly to stare at him. “Changing the colour of your eyes is one thing, Ragnar. Changing everything about you is another. You don’t know the concentration it takes for me to keep that mask on. To have another person to think about-”

Ragnar kissed her brow. He whispered to her, “We will figure it out.”

“But, Ragnar…”

He tilted her chin back, kissing the line of her throat. Eva’s mind turned to smoke, her body grew hotter. She knew where he was headed to, and it wasn’t fair.

She said as much, or moaned as much, as Ragnar traced the still visible mark on her neck, where his teeth had broken skin. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I never did,” Ragnar whispered.

Against her better judgment, Eva tilted her head to the side, and when Ragnar kissed her there, her whole body melted against him. Finally awaking. “Ragnar,” she insisted.

“We will keep practicing,” he said to her, lips trailing along her ear. “There’s nothing you cannot do.”

“You’re overestimating my abilities.” And her self-restraint. Clearly.

Eva could feel him smiling. “Never.”

Before she could register it, Ragnar walked her back to her bed. She raised her brows at him, but Ragnar only picked her up, and gently placed her over the covers. Then, he climbed after her, and pulled her into his arms.

He said, “I will give in to you, always, Ashryver. I will lose every argument, make a point to say that you’re right on every occasion, and kneel for you forever, but not on this. Don’t make me. You’ll only lose your breath.”

Eva watched him, eyes marvelling at every feature she’d already committed to memory over and over again. Heart hurting, forcing a smile on and a light voice, she murmured to him, “I don’t need you to kneel for me.”

He touched her chin. “No?” His eyes ravaged her then and there. “Not even if I want to taste you?”

Ragnar pulled her into the mattress, hovering above her. Eva said, as he closed the distance between them, “That’ll be the only exception.”

***

When the guard called for him, Oren felt like holding on to Atarah tighter.

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispered to him.

The guard said respectfully, “The Prince will be waiting in the meeting room, Sir. We shall accompany you there.”

Oren tried to shake off the nervousness. He’d never been called _Sir_ so much his entire life. It was quite unsettling.

“My Lady,” another guard said. “It is already sundown, we should escort you to your chambers.”

Atarah pulled her shawl closer to her and sighed. “Very well, then.”

The guards turned away, walking a few paces from them. A cold breeze froze him to his very bones, carrying the scent of wildflowers. In the evening light, amongst the flowers in the garden, Atarah looked like a star.

She reached up, cupping his cheek with a gloved hand. “I hope you hear what your heart desires. And try to get some rest. We will speak tomorrow.”

Oren kissed the palm of her hand. “I shall keep you in my dreams,” he murmured. “Sweetheart.”

“I don’t get tired of that,” Atarah said back.

Turning to look at the guards’ turned backs, Atarah then leaned in, balancing on her tiptoes, and kissed him gently.

Oren pulled her closer on instinct, returning the kiss in the sweetest of manners. Atarah broke it first, her breathing a little unstable, her heart just as unsettled. She said, “Good luck.”

“Sleep well,” he said to her.

Watching her go, flanked by two guards, Oren replayed all the questions he’d thought about during those long, awful days.

“Sir?” His guard enquired.

That’s all he had to do – reach out, and take the answers he wanted. Oren told himself that he’d accept it.

“Yes,” Oren let out, following the guard.

Even if those answers were as hurtful as he expected them to be.

***

When he opened the doors to the meeting room, Endymion was already there.

Oren halted, sucking in a breath.

The Prince was not like anything he’d imagined. Perhaps Oren had visualized him closer to Rowan’s appearance, but Enda was as different as could be. His lithe, powerful body was elegant, built for court, rather than a battlefield. His eyes, flecked with brown, were bright and animated, full of life, full of intrigue. And now wide, as he took in Oren.

Before either of them could speak, Rowan said gently, “I will let you both talk.” Passing by him, Oren said, “Thank you, Rowan.”

Rowan smiled, and touched Oren’s shoulder, before leaving them both.

“Oren,” Enda said, his voice deep and melodious. Surprise over, his eyes were now kind, inviting, even. He rounded the table and stood in front of Oren, taking him in. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“I should be thanking you,” Oren said. Because, at the end of the day, he was no one.

Enda couldn’t help but murmur, “You look just like him.”

“So Rowan tells me.”

Enda’s eyes flashed with something incredibly sad, but after a blink, it was gone before Oren could properly analyse it. “I wish I’d known you…” Enda began, then shook his head. “Rowan says you missed nothing. That your parents were good to you.”

Oren swallowed hard, his heart aching as he thought of his family. His two little sisters, his older brothers, his mother’s smiles, his father’s tight, bone-crushing hugs. He missed them terribly. “They were,” he whispered. “They are.”

Enda invited him to sit, and as Oren caught a glimpse of his cousin’s eyes again, he had the strange sensation that whatever he chose to ask, he would receive nothing but pure honesty. Even if it would hurt him.

The thought was oddly comforting.

Enda grinned. “So, a falcon?”

“You too?”

Enda’s smile grew. “I think you take after me in that department, kid.” And, surprisingly, Oren felt himself relax – and even smile. Something about Enda reassured him. “No wind?”

“Not that I know of,” Oren said. “No ice, either.”

Enda narrowed his eyes, looking at Oren up and down. “We’ll get it out of you.”

A pause. “I could tell you the whole story, the way I know it,” Enda continued, his smile faltering. “I realize you must have questions.”

“I’d rather you tell me,” Oren said under his breath. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Enda gave him a nod, then breathed in. “Your father was always a difficult male. Ever since we were younglings, there was this constant need to rise above everyone else. Our mother considered him to be a passionate child, but our father deemed him spoiled. Growing up with him was not easy, mind you. Arwel needed to be the one that was seen, he needed the victories, he needed everything and everyone. Between you and I, I always thought that stemmed from the fact that our father had never given Arwel the time of day. My brother grew into a bitter male because of it. Anyways,” he took a pause. “Your mother, Oren, was called Ilaria. Sometimes she went by Ily.”

A great, endless silence settled into Oren’s heart. When he was able to speak, he only managed to say, “Was?”

Enda lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Oren had not known what to expect. There was not a feeling of… loss inside him, exactly, because he had never met her. But an incredible sadness took its place instead. Something bottomless, unreachable.

Enda continued, “Your mother grew up as a servant in the palace. Everyone who saw her knew her name. She was lively, your mother. Could light up a room whatever the situation. My mother was particularly fond of your grandmother. I would say they were both friends, even.”

“I spoke to her only a couple of times. Back then, we were close to getting Rowan’s call to join the war, and I spent my days training. A year or so before the war, I noticed my brother’s absence more and more, and whenever I saw him, he had a strange smile on his face I could never decipher.”

Oren hesitated, wondering if he should say it. Biting the bullet, he blurted out, “In the rare cases I heard his name, it was usually associated with him making a sport out of breaking hearts.”

Enda smiled slightly. “It was true. I think, when your father saw your mother, something changed in him. He spoke about her to me once. And though he was reserved, I could see that a part of him truly cared for her. It had stopped being a sport for him, rather momentarily. He saw no one else in those months.”

“But my brother was certain there could never be a future between them, no matter how much I told him otherwise. He rejected the idea completely. That very night, he almost threw me out the window for insisting on such a thing. But I saw it as a rare chance for him to be happy, and I jumped at it with reckless abandon,” Enda smiled, recalling, his eyes faraway, seemingly lost in memory. “That’s Arwel. You could never talk to him about vulnerability, or about love. He would not accept it.”

“And then came the news that your mother was pregnant. Of course, no one knew. I, myself, did not know it at the time. I came to know much later on, when you were already out of my grasp. Arwel was angry.” Enda’s voice softened here, as if easing the blow. “He told your mother to leave the palace, but she refused. It was her home. Just as it was ours. Arwel pushed her away, out of his life, and your mother had never felt more alone. How could she not? Her own sister told her not to keep you.”

Oren’s breath was shaky. “I have an aunt?”

“Aurelia was her name. She has since passed, too. I think… losing her sister and her father left a hollowness in her soul that Aurelia could not fill.” A pause. “Arwel had a choice to make, Oren. He could leave behind the person he tried to become to gain our father’s love, or he could be happy, and have a family, a wife. But to him, marrying your mother, who, to him, was still just a servant, no matter what his feelings were, would be another disappointment to add to our father’s list. He thought that it would taint him. So he never spoke to her again.”

“Sometimes I think about it. I look at your father and I see a male so filled with bitterness that nothing good ever dares to approach him, and I feel sorry for him. If he had known how to open his heart and allow his feelings to push away all of the things he’d taught himself over the years… he would have been so different. So different, Oren. For that one moment, during that night, when he spoke about your mother, I almost saw a glimpse of what he could be. Of what her love could have done for him. But that was not your mother’s job. It was no one’s job to save my brother. He let himself perish.” Enda sighed softly.

Oren took in those words, often times dragging his eyes to stare out of the window, trying to picture his mother’s struggle in his mind. He couldn’t. A female who had fallen in love with the wrong sort, pregnant, alone. She’d still chosen to keep him.

“One thing you have to know, Oren, is that your mother loved you very much. And she wanted you even more than that.”

“How did she die?” Oren murmured.

“Your birth came suddenly, and there was not any time for commodities,” Enda swallowed hard. He blinked, and looked out the window, as if it stung to even think of the words. “Ilaria only got a few minutes to hold you before her heart gave out.”

Silence.

Oren ran a hand down his face, leaning against the table, feeling as if he no longer had the strength to hold himself up.

“Why wasn’t there anyone with her?” Oren asked, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

“Your mother refused to ask any maids. She needed to keep you a secret, to protect you. She was frightened…”

“That Arwel would kill me if he realized people knew that he had a bastard son with a servant.”

Enda looked over at him, reaching out a hand. Oren breathed in, and accepted it. Enda squeezed it, before continuing, “Your aunt had no means to keep you. And she knew you would grow up to look like your father, so the chances of finding a family were scarce. So-”

“She abandoned me.”

Enda flinched. “Oren…”

“She was angry, wasn’t she? If it hadn’t been for me, her sister would still be alive.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

Enda shook his head slowly. He said, “Your mother’s health was deteriorating. Your mother died, Oren, because there was no one there to help her.” Enda’s eyes lowered again. “Bad health, or not, if she’d had the proper care, she would still be alive.”

Oren’s jaw hardened. “And Arwel?”

Enda looked up. Paused. “Your father-” There was hesitance as Enda tried to find the proper words.

“Don’t spare details,” Oren let out. “Please. I want to know.”

Nodding, Enda then continued, “Upon hearing of your mother’s death, your father thought you were gone, too. He… destroyed a wing of the palace. He disappeared into the woods and came back reeking of animal blood. Your father felt pain he didn’t understand. And regret, too. Though he would never admit to either. He knew the monster he’d become, and he knew he deserved no forgiveness.”

“You told him.” Oren looked up. “You were the one who told him my mother died.”

“Yes,” Enda whispered.

“And who told you?”

There was another part to this story – Oren could tell, as Enda straightened, and his voice lowered again, recalling the past. “Your aunt, Aurelia. She’d decided to take you deep into the Immortal Woods. She hoped someone would find you.”

“Or that an animal would,” Oren whispered. “Perhaps she prayed for it, too. That I would be a predator’s meal.”

Enda grimaced again, but did not contradict him. “At the time, your aunt saw it as it being the only solution. Your mother was buried in secret. The castle did not ask why she never appeared again.” A pause. “But I did.”

“Your mother passed by me every morning on her way to the kitchens. When two weeks went by without me seeing her, I went to your aunt. She broke down, and confessed to what happened and what she’d done with you. I was…” He paused. “I was lost. The possibility of anyone finding you was small… but I searched.”

“You searched for me?”

“You were my blood,” Enda said. “You _are_ my blood, Oren.”

Oren’s heart tightened. He said, “What happened, then?”

“I sent a searching party to the woods in secret. My brother still doesn’t know this.”

“He still thinks I died with my mother.”

“Yes,” Enda nodded. “For three days, I searched those woods and beyond. I asked villagers, but none of them had found you.” A pause. “I must have knocked on your father’s door, too.”

_So, they lied_ , Oren realized.

He imagined his father hiding him, his brothers, then so little, wrapping him in blankets to hide his scent. He imagined his mother, that dark hair of us pulled back tightly from her face, lying to Enda’s face as if lying was a talent of hers.

Just so they could protect him.

Keep him.

Give him a home, where they’d thought he be safer. More loved.

“I truly believed you were gone then. And I… grieved you.” Enda blinked back the emotions bubbling on the surface, and squeezed Oren’s hand again. “Gods bless your mother and father, Oren. I will be indebted to them for the rest of my life.”

Oren knew Endymion meant it.

“Rowan gave you a choice,” Enda said. “And I am giving you one, too. Whether or not you wish to meet your father, I will stand by you no matter what.” A pause. “If you want to reclaim your title, or not, then you will have my support either way.”

Oren’s head was swimming. “You’re offering me to go back with you – to meet Arwel.”

Enda looked at Oren, so intently, as if looking _through_ him. After what it felt like an eternity, Enda murmured, “Not only your father.”

“Who else, then?”

“Oren,” Enda said softly, “you have two siblings.”

***

Light poured down like water slipping through her windows.

Her legs stretched, and a tight ache in her abdomen and chest made her flinch. She turned into the pillow, sighing into its silky softness. Her throat hurt. Was she getting sick?

Oh, that would not do. There was so much to do. She’d go back to school in-

María cracked an eye open.

Stared at the orange sunlight pouring on the floor.

She’d slept the whole day?

She closed her eyes again and dove into the sheets. Gods, she hadn’t gotten any rest – the strangest dreams had plagued her night. Her mind, however, felt pleasantly groggy, her body lazy.

María needed to get up.

Her mother would be knocking on her door asking her why on earth she was still in bed in a few minutes, surely. Sitting up, ignoring the pains and aches of her body, María managed to get her legs out of bed and into the floor. 

Her first hazy thought was, _How come the bed feels higher?_

Her second, much more awake, thought, was, _I’m in regular clothes._

Things began to come back to her slowly, progressively, like she was sitting there, watching a movie play in her own mind. Her eyes focused, and María was faced with windows that were not her own, a bed that was not her own, and a house that was most definitely not her own.

She watched the sun through the window in quiet, shocked realization. Her body was heavy. She should be panicking. Why wasn’t she panicking?

Slowly, María walked to the window. Her feet were bare, and her shoes were neatly placed against the walls, next to her backpack. She could see the outline of her phone in her front pocket.

This was not her city.

This was not her home.

María touched the window, her breath fogging the glass, as her gaze travelling over the houses, the mountains ahead. It might have been like any other human city, in a foreign country somewhere. But of course it wasn’t.

Oh.

_Oh._

She spun slowly around the room. Everything looked terrifyingly vivid, like she’d been living her entirely life in a sepia screen, only to step into reality for the first time. She touched the silky sheets, the white reflecting the orange sun. She blinked once, twice, a third time. Her throat ached.

María caught her reflection in a standing mirror.

She led her hands to the bruises on her throat.

She should have died.

They’d saved her. Whoever ‘they’ was. Hazy memories of a woman’s face, gentle eyes and a gentler voice telling her, _“You’ll be okay.”_

Would she?

She didn’t know what had happened to the man who’d almost killed her. Didn’t want to know.

María slipped from the room into a long hallway, covered with windows. Impulsively, her back touched the opposite wall – here, she could see the entire city. Glittering lights were already lighting up the world here and there. It was beautiful. She couldn’t breathe.

She felt so exposed here.

Tip toing, María found the grand staircase, spiralling down to a family room. From here, she could see the outline of couches and she could hear a fire going, flames crackling. But no voices. Had she been left in this house alone?

_House_ – she almost laughed at the understatement. This was not a house. This was like… a whole entire estate from the 1800s. María almost expected to look out the window and see a bride in a puffy gown and horses carrying a carriage, a driver sitting at the front with a white wig and funny shoes.

Taking in a deep breath, María walked silently down the steps, her shirt clinging uncomfortably to her back. At the last step, María almost darted back up.

She halted, like a cat confronted with a stranger.

She saw his back. Only his back. No wings in sight.

Moving from counter to counter, a bowl in front of him, fruit scattered over the table. This room had a view to the kitchen.

_Kitchen_.

But this didn’t strike he as much as _him_ being in front of her did.

Aidan moved silently. Inhumanly so. He made absolutely no noise as he stepped back and forth between the counters. She was out of his view. _He’s here_. She could just go back to bed, pretend to sleep forever. _He’s here._ He wouldn’t see her, surely. _He’s here. He’s here. He’s here._

_Yes,_ she thought to herself, gulping. _Yes, the bed sounds very nice right now._

María retracted back a single step, without turning her back on him-

But then Aidan straightened, and she knew she was done for. He sensed her. Of course he did.

He said nothing. Just stood with his back turned to her, with that unnatural stillness of his. So, María took another step towards the stairs-

“María,” he said gently.

His voice cut through her like knifes digging into her sides.

She held on to the railing so she wouldn’t fall.

Aidan was looking over his shoulder at her.

He didn’t move towards her, thank the angels.

No, he simply stood there, and after a minute’s pause, he turned back around, resuming his cooking. It was utterly bizarre.

“You’re awake,” he said, sounding quietly relieved.

María looked around. He’d probably smelled her from all the way up, or heard her steps down the stairs. What other Fae might be roaming around that her very human ears had not picked up?

He must have sensed her unease, sensed her looking around, for Aidan called out, his voice still soft as a summer breeze, “No one else is here. Just you and I.”

Which implied that others _had_ previously been there.

“Where am I?” She asked him, trying to keep her voice as even as possible.

Aidan placed a dirty bowl in the sink and said, “Velaris, City of Starlight.”

Everything looked exceptionally old-fashioned. The sink, made of orange metal, the dark, wooden cabinets. There was no fridge, no stove. But a hearth on his side, a huge, solid cauldron boiling on it, the smell of vegetables brushing her nose. The dining table was long. There was no television. No electricity to be seen.

It was strangely normal, and yet-

Not at all.

This could have very well been a human kitchen. He ate and cooked like a human, she noticed, watching him cut into more fruit. Fruit she’d never seen before. The colours reminded María of cavernous plants.

She sat on the last step of the stairs, gathering her bearings.

She could live through this, she told herself. She would live through this. She would think in small sections. First, she’d been almost killed, _twice_ , which was truly not great, like, at all, but she wasn’t dead, so that was a relief. _Focus on that._ Second, this house looked… semi-ordinary. Old, but somewhat ordinary. The normalcy of the cabinets, the wooden floors, the tables… it was comforting. Even the sight of Aidan cooking and the smell of vegetables and fruit felt… normal.

_This is good,_ she thought, as her heart settled down, as her breathing slowly returned to normal. _This is fine._

Perhaps she could cope with this after all. Focusing on the good.

Aidan did not speak to her.

He did not take a step toward her.

_He’s trying not to frighten me._

_He’s allowing me to come to him_ , she thought. _Or stay here._

María thought long and hard about her next question. “Am I free to leave?”

He stopped suddenly, as if the question irked him. “You’re not my prisoner.”

She swallowed hard. “Am I… _able_ to leave?”

He slowly turned to look at her. And-

María then saw it. His ears. Pointy. His features… while it was the same face, María saw the differences between now and the mask he’s worn when he’d been in the human world: he was more beautiful than she remembered, extraordinarily so; one of those faces that would stop anyone on the street by how unusually pretty it was. The richness of his tan skin, his blue eyes, his midnight hair… he had clearly toned everything down.

“Of course,” he said.

“But…” she breathed in. “When I tried to touch the rocks, it did not… take me back home.”

Aidan said, “The portal is not always open. The moment the sun descends and it is no longer bathing the mountain in light, the portal closes.”

María turned her eyes to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sundown. Night was slowly approaching. She would not be able to get back home now.

“So, when the sun touches it…”

“The portal opens,” he finished.

María slowly rose on her feet, aware of Aidan’s eyes on her. She paced around, accessing the furniture, accessing him.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he whispered, as if he was trying very, very hard not to move. There was a slight tremble to his voice, and María picked up on it right away. That was anger underneath the surface. Rage.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered back. “I was foolish to come.”

“Why did you?”

Neither of them seemed ready for that answer, and María didn’t deign him with an one when he did not insist. She touched her throat. “Where’s the woman?”

“Pardon?”

“The woman who was holding me,” she clarified.

“Saskia,” Aidan finally said. “She is the wife of the clan leader. They were the ones to heal you. But they had to call my uncle – the Commander. He oversees the Illyrians, and my father’s armies.”

María locked those words. _Commander. Armies._

She said, “Were they frightened of me?”

Aidan gave her a little smile. “Very.”

“Do they think I’m a danger to you?”

Aidan hesitated for a heartbeat. “Yes.”

Ridiculous.

That she could be any danger-

“But you’re the one with the sharp teeth,” she murmured.

Aidan turned fully to her. His clothes were unlike anything she’d ever seen. Dark and sombre, embroidered with golden thread. A simply tunic and dark trousers, and yet… he looked like a dark prince, straight out of a fairytale.

“You’re the one with the strange apparatus in your bag.”

They’d gone through her bag. Of course.

“I’m sorry,” Aidan said. “It was a precaution.”

She didn’t like it, but- “I understand.” A pause. “Nothing in that bag can hurt you.” Perhaps the pepper-spray that she’d dropped on the mountain, but that had proved to have little to no effect on the Fae. That amount would have put a normal grown man down. The man – Fae – he’d barely let out a bark of pain. Plus, she did not even bother entertaining the possibility of having any phone signal here.

“I believe you.”

María paused. Considered. Then she took a step toward him, and stepped into the kitchen, still feeling as if she might be strutting in front of a predator.

“How do you feel?” He asked, unmoving.

“Shaken,” she replied. “Hurts to breathe.”

He hung his head, as if that pained him. “You look… calmer.”

María stopped. There as a table between them now. “I wanted proof that it was real. That you had been real. And now I got it. It doesn’t make it easier. But I will never come to terms with it unless I begin to accept it all.”

Aidan watched her warily. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why not?” It seemed like a reasonable question to her.

Aidan found it slightly amusing, it seemed. One corner of his mouth lifted, just like she remembered, and for a moment there, María wanted to smile with him. “We don’t hunt humans. _Usually_.”

He was making light of the situation – for her sake.

“Usually,” she repeated.

He grinned. “Maybe sometimes we take a bite out of them to see if they’ll bite back.”

“Don’t doubt it,” she said.

A pause.

Aidan’s eyes were heavy on hers. María breathed in, forcing her eyes away from him.

“You should eat,” he said.

María said, “Will I become your servant if I do? Like the stories say.” Joking – it was helping. He was not human, and he didn’t look totally human. But-

This made him feel slightly more ordinary to her.

Even if she knew she had a glamour on her, so they could speak.

“You know,” she continued, sliding her hand through the wooden table. No wax, no polish, just pure wood. She noticed Aidan’s eyes following that movement. “I taste your food, and I will never be able to digest human food again, thus withering away and dying.”

“Interesting stories, those.”

“I got more.”

“Do tell,” he said.

“You know my real name,” she said. “Will that give you the ability to control me? Make me spin in circles for your amusement? Do a tap dance?”

“I don’t know what a tap dance is,” he smiled, looking beautiful.

María’s heart softened, and calmed, with that smile. She murmured, “Of course you don’t.”

Aidan shared her look for a second too long, then said, “Eating will not trap you here, nor make you detest your food.”

“Ah.”

“I have no power over you,” he said, watching her. “No power at all.”

“Is Aidan your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how I’ve come to be here.”

“My uncle brought you. Flew you over.”

“Flew,” she repeated, slightly dazed.

Aidan continued, “He thought here was safer for you.”

“Why isn’t he here now?”

“They didn’t want to scare you,” Aidan said.

“And you’re not… glamoured.” She made a point to stare, looking at his ears, his sharp jawline, the beautiful contours of his inhuman-human face.

“Do I frighten you like this?”

She gulped. “No.”

“Liar.” But he was smiling, and she got a glimpse of those sharp teeth again. “You frighten me, too.”

Oddly comforting.

“Please, sit,” Aidan said gently, gesturing to the table. “I would rather you eat now.”

She did as she was told, slightly nauseous, but knowing he was right. She needed the strength.

He was not going to hurt her.

He already would have.

From her brief experience with Fae and their creatures, they acted on impulse and animal instinct. Whatever that meant. She read him easily, and by his movements, she knew that Aidan was intent on staying as far away from her as he could, so he would not frighten her.

That meant something.

He placed fruit and a bowl of liquid in front of her. “I didn’t know what you like,” he said, a little hopelessly. Instead of sitting, Aidan stood at far end of the room, next to the windows.

“You can sit,” she murmured, watching him. It felt like a strange thing to say, since she did not own the house.

Reassured, Aidan sat down in front of her. María knew that he was being particularly slow for her sake.

She looked down.

The liquid smelled divine. She recognized onions, carrots… and then the fruit-

It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or smelled before.

No cutlery on sight.

Aidan watched her attentively.

María said, “You’re not eating.”

“I already ate.” Then he paused. Smiled. Like he knew a secret. “Would you feel better if I ate with you?”

The way he was able to tell surprised her – and secretly delighted her. She nodded, a little sheepish.

Aidan went to grab a bowl.

***

He tried not to think too much about it.

He’d made her food.

She was going to eat the food. That he made her.

_Means nothing,_ he growled to himself, pushing his thoughts away. _That’s a dumb, ancient tradition._

And, in fact, Aidan could not think about such things when he was trying his absolute hardest to make her feel as safe as he possible could.

He sat down in front of her with his bowl. He sipped, watching her. Her calm had startled him slightly. But then he’d looked at her soft eyes, slight puffy from sleeping, watching him, too, and he’d realized that she was trying to process everything in her own way.

María had realized that panicking would not help.

She sipped too, and Aidan almost convulsed.

_Means nothing_ , he snarled to himself.

She put down the bowl immediately. “What’s in there?” She asked, blinking. She shook her head then, but her voice had been… almost marvelled?

“Well,” Aidan said nervously. “Water. Hum… vegetables.” A pause. “Salt. Parsley. Cooking herbs.”

María narrowed her eyes. “You salt your food?”

“You don’t?”

Her lips parted as she muttered, “Uh.” In a _Would you believe?_ Sort of way. “What else?”

“… and nothing else.”

“No way,” she said. “No way something that tastes this good is _only_ water and vegetables and some dainty little herbs.”

He smiled, half-relieved, half-enchanted at her little outburst.

She sipped some more, and it was done in a minute. He got her another bowl in silence, and María nodded in thanks.

“Aidan,” she said finally.

“Yes.”

After her third bowl, she murmured to him, a bit shyly, “You’re not that scary.”

That might have been the sweetest thing anyone had ever told him.

***

Later that night, Alric Nox burst through the doors of the throne room dragging two Fae by the back of their necks.

The female and the male were chained up in iron, and seemed to have taken an unfortunate beating. They did not look too happy to be dragged up by a human. The spies and guards that flanked Alric sneered at them.

Eva stood next to the Prince and the Queen, her eyes widening.

Well.

They did tell her the damned spy was good.

“Majesty,” Alric announced, practically throwing the Fae at Aelin’s feet. Ragnar stepped back, stepping protectively close to Eva. Both Lysandra and Aedion seemed to do the same. 

On the other side of the Queen, Aran’s eyes sparkled.

“Alric,” Aelin cooed. “Good nose you got there.”

Alric smiled.

“Who are they?” It was Lorcan that spoke, flanking the Queen’s other side, Elide Lochan standing by him what a look of pure disdain on her otherwise kind face. Immortality, it seemed, had given Elide a particularly cruel side that she only showed those who dared to hurt her family.

“We found these two in an inn on the outskirts of Monsaraz,” said Alric.

Eva took a breath. That was the first village – just a couple of miles outside of Orynth.

“I disguised one of my men and sent him scouting,” Alric continued. “He was subtle in the way that he addressed it, but I had him pretending to be on Vanserra’s side of the story. After a fortnight, these two little birds revealed themselves after a few bottles of ale. Ain’t that right?”

The female snarled, but she could not move with her chains.

“We chased them down, made them fess up, and here we are.”

The Queen’s eyes were unforgiving. Relentless.

“They were planning on capturing the Princess,” Alric said, looking up at Eva. “Invading the palace at nightfall. But the plans changed. Apparently, one of Vanserra’s minions showed up dead in one of Vanserra’s lairs.”

_Hylas_ , Eva thought, recalling Atarah’s story.

The female shook her dark hair out of her mouth, then spat at Eva’s feet.

Before either Aedion or Lysandra could act, Ragnar growled – a sound that reverberated through the throne room, through the world. That sound could have shaken a mountain.

Eva placed a gentle hand on her mate’s chest.

She looked to Aelin, a silent question in her eyes. Aelin appeared to need no words from Eva, and nodded once.

Eva walked down the steps of the dais toward the female. Eyes the same colour of her hair, and the male next to her – skin as pale as morning mists, eyes the colour of violets. She smiled at them both before squatting down to their height. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Demon,” the male gritted out. “ _Unnatural_.”

Eva shifted to look exactly like him. Their faces of shock entertained her. They fed the already growing rage inside her heart. She cooed, “Indeed I am.”

“Good news, Princess,” Alric said.

“Don’t,” Aran snarled from the corner.

Eva rose, looking at her brother over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed on him, but Aran was staring at Alric, as if pleading.

Alric looked apologetic. He continued, turning his eyes to Eva. “These two talk a bunch. We know Vanserra’s location. And we know what time we should be there.”

“Lovely,” Eva smiled. She reached down, taking the female’s jaw in her hand, controlling herself so she wouldn’t snap it in half. Wouldn’t be good to waste precious information. The female struggled, but the iron weakened her. Eva’s grip was deadly. Her nails marked the female’s jaw. “You think you can hurt my family and live to tell the tale?” She whispered. “You think you can hurt people like me and get to run free?”

The female stopped struggling, her eyes widening. The male beside her surged on his feet, but guards descended down on them.

“Settle down, now,” Eva murmured. “You are about to become very useful to me.”


	21. Chapter 21

_The skies always look so bright before the rain comes._

Laelia Whitethorn Galathynius thought about this as she stared out her window into the gardens below. She’d woken up with a terrible feeling, with a growing ache inside her chest, and leaving her bed had proven to be a great deal more difficult than it usually was. Now, as she watched Eva and Alric walk through the gardens in the midst of an intense conversation, Laelia’s heart felt a little weaker.

Eva would listen to no one.

“ _Talk to her_ ,” Lysandra had begged Laelia. “She’ll listen to you.”

Laelia held no such power over people, not like her aunt Lysandra did. Lys was desperate enough to believe a lie. Besides, it was a conversation that had been lost from the very beginning.

_“Evie, think of Ragnar.”_

_“Eva, please. Please, listen to your parents. To us. No one wants you to do this alone.”_

All of it in vain.

You see, Laelia was not foolish.

She knew she was not brave.

Not like her family, anyway.

If her father told her, strictly, that she was too young to fight, and much too young to bear this weight, she believed him. If her mother begged her to stay away from the fight because it would ease their hearts, Laelia would not be foolish enough to dive into the chaos. One, she was terrified that she was only going to make things harder for everyone. Two, she was not actually of any use.

Do not think she means this as a self-deprecating comment. It was factual. Like she said, Laelia was not foolish. She knew her limits. And she knew that if she pulled an Eva Ashryver and marched through the woods to look for the man that had hurt her most beloved family, she would not succeed. Laelia knew that, when the moment finally came, her legs would tremble, her heart would cease to beat, and she would be petrified in place. Laelia was not like Amara. Her older sister shared the spirit of her parents – rash, impulsive, temperamental.

But Laelia was not rash, nor impulsive, much less temperamental.

Laelia was cunning.

And if she would not win with a sword-

Well.

She would make sure she won with her mind.

***

_You’re not that scary_ , she’d said.

Aidan had beamed. He’d felt his heart so light that it had almost stopped in that instance. _You’re not that scary._ The fact that his mate went from scurrying away from him and looking at him like he was her worst nightmare to saying, to his face, _You’re not that scary…_

He’d call that a triumph any day.

Soon enough, however, Aidan had realized that María had stopped eating and had just stared at him wide-eyed. In his cloud of bubbly happiness, he’d forgotten to school his features into submission. He probably looked absolute bonkers with that stupid smile plastered on his face-

He coughed into his hand, and she watched him, like she always did – like her eyes might devour him. Like she was not afraid of being caught observing him, like-

Like she found him the most interesting thing she’d ever laid her pretty eyes on.

“I’ll get some bread,” he said softly, and moved from the table before she could speak.

María sucked in a breath as he opened a cupboard, and Aidan took a moment to understand her reaction.

He’d moved too fast.

_Humans don’t move like this_ , he reminded himself with a scold.

Watching her, Aidan eased the bread onto the counter and slowly cut into it.

María put her bowl down and narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t have to do that for me, you know.” A pause, as she breathed in. “I think it’s… it sounds nuts, I know, but I think it actually helps if you’re… you know, being you. Naturally. Your natural, hum,” she stuttered, “… Fae self.”

Aidan’s lips spread into a smile. He couldn’t help it. “Natural Fae self?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, and placed her feet on the chair, wrapping her arms around her legs.

Aidan watched her for a moment, as he brought the thick pieces of bread over to her. “You’re cold,” he said – a statement.

“Oh,” she said, a bit bewildered, as if she hadn’t felt it.

Or perhaps because she was astonished that he’d noticed so keenly.

He had to stop doing that.

Aidan paused, then looked over to the couch – where his cousin had left her jacket. María was much smaller than Astrid, but it would do. He brought it over, and, instead of putting it over her shoulders like he ached to do, Aidan gave it to her, and stepped back, like a good male.

María smiled. “Thank you.”

“I know it’s big,” he said, stumbling slightly over the words. “But it’s either that or one of mine and mine are…”

María’s eyes followed the line of his shoulders. “Enormous.”

She blushed then.

Aidan heard the way her heart stumbled a bit. Could almost see her thoughts through her eyes, as she tried to find a way to backtrack that statement.

She only said, “Thank you,” once more.

Aidan sat in front of her again, and, as casually as he could, he munched on a piece of bread. He watched her bite into it though, delighting in her delight.

“I’ve been to France,” she murmured to him, “and not even the French make bread like this. And I’m Spanish.” She looked at him, dead serious. “Do you know how good our bread is?”

“I can only imagine,” he smiled, but got caught on her words. “France?”

She looked up. Finished her bite. Said, “A country in Europe.”

“Europe?” 

“A continent.”

“Continent,” he said back, pausing to think over this. “So, Europe is… France and Spain?”

“Oh, no,” María said conversationally. “There’s loads more.”

He could see that, as she spoke, her tone was still moderately distracted. Apprehensive, too. She was not sure what she was willing to tell him, what parts of her world – of herself – she was willing to share with him. His mate, however, hid this well, through a thinly veiled layer of distracted conversation.

He wished he could ease it – her doubt, her fear. He wished there was a way to soothe her, to make her feel safe, most of all. Aidan was not foolish enough to believe that simply because María was sitting here, eating with him, speaking calmly, without pulling away from him everytime he shot her a smile, that she was alright with him and his world and everything that she’d learned, in so little time. He knew that no matter how many times she returned his smiles, there would still be this wall between them.

Aidan would not take a hammer to it to get to her.

He couldn’t.

His mate would have to be the one to come to him. _If_ she so wished.

“Is this your house?” She asked then, reaching for another piece of bread. Aidan had left his. His stomach churned.

“No,” he said. “I mean, sort of. We use this house as a meeting point, mostly. I have my own apartment.”

“It seems so… normal,” she said, looking around. “I mean no offense.”

Aidan grinned. “Non-taken.”

“You say apartment, like… like it might as well be a human-looking apartment,” she continued, nibbling on the crust of the bread. “Apartment is such a normal word to use.”

“Did you expect us to live in caves?” He raised a brow, clearly amused.

“I expected you to live in a palace. Like in the fairytales. Though, this house is… very close.”

“What do you mean when you say _normal_?” He asked, genuinely curious. Because, again – he’d been inside human establishments, or what María had called a café, but he’d never been inside a human home. And as he tried to picture it, he was suddenly very curious as to what María would consider a home.

“Well…” she struggled with this answer. After a moment’s pause, looking around, she said to him, “That – the cabinets, that’s normal.” She pointed. “This, this table, it’s normal. And the chairs, and the rugs, the fireplace… the curtains. This could be a human home. Outdated, but a human home nonetheless.”

Aidan paused. “Is that why you haven’t run from me?”

María paused, too. She didn’t look at him. “No.” Then she considered this further. “Well, not the only reason.”

“Why, then?” He asked. “Why haven’t you run?”

“For starters,” she began, folding her hands on the table, “I’m frightened something will kill me out there, since I don’t know my way back to the mountains. There’s a very high chance that I will get lost, or eaten, or, much more likely, trip on my own feet, hit my head, and die a horrible death.”

Aidan flinched.

But she smiled. “And because, like I said, I don’t feel like I might be in danger here with you. If you or your family meant me harm, you wouldn’t be feeding me or asking me about Spain and France, Aidan. You could twist my neck quicker than I could blink.”

Aidan couldn’t help his shudder. “Don’t say that.”

“But you have to recognize that that is the truth,” María said softly.

He lowered his eyes, unable to look into her own. He stared at his closed fists, and felt ill. Aidan shook his head, and lifted himself up.

“Aidan,” María said.

He closed his eyes, pausing. “You’re right,” he whispered. He forced himself to look at her. “You’re right. I know what I am.”

“And you know what I am.”

He braced his hands over the table and said to her, “But you also have to recognize, María, that I would rather die a thousand times than be the one to put you in danger.”

María stared at him, her mouth parting.

He’d left her without words, he could tell.

Something about her face in that moment was very interesting. The way her eyes flashed, like his words had sent sparks shooting through her veins, the way her eyes fluttered slightly, the way her mouth tensed. All of it was very interesting.

And he could have stared forever.

Instead, he forced himself to pull back. “Do you want to see the view?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then, she tried again, “I don’t want to fly.”

Aidan laughed softly. “We’re not going to fly.”

“Oh.”

Aidan quirked a brow. “I thought you _didn’t_ want to fly.”

“I don’t.”

He grinned. “Why do you sound disappointed, then?”

María watched him warily. Then, having seemingly made a decision, she allowed a cautious smile to play on her lips, as she murmured to him, “I’m not disappointed.”

“And not a very good liar, either.”

He was teasing her – just a bit. Just to see how far he could push this conversation.

Just to see how much he could make her smile.

María rose, breathed in, full of daring, and said, “Show me, then.”

Aidan smiled, and gestured with his head. “Come on, then. This way.”

***

She had said goodbye to Luna already, but Atarah had saved her last goodbye for him.

She wouldn’t call it a goodbye – not to either of them. It felt too final, it felt…

It felt like forever.

Atarah had made a point to say to Luna, “I _will_ see you soon.”

It was a promise, in its own right.

Now, as Atarah sat in her carriage, the sun barely rising past those Terrasen mountains, she felt every bit of her aching. She’d looked down at her hands that morning and found them healed almost completely. Her body was erasing every sign of everything that she’d had to do in that cell. But her mind refused to forget.

Oren leaned over the window; his shirt folded up to his forearms even if it was a freezing morning. His hair was a mess of tangles, catching the weak rays, a gradient of white and gold threading together.

“So, Doranelle,” Atarah said to him, leaning her body against the door. She knew they were in a hurry – if she wanted to reach Suria by midday to avoid the dangers of the night, then she needed to get going. But Atarah couldn’t help but grab onto any spare minutes that she could get with Oren. “Are you frightened?”

The night before, Oren had stayed with her late in the evening, sipping cold tea as he told her of his conversation with his uncle. Her heart had ached for him, for the way his jaw set when he spoke about the male who had abandoned his mother when she’d needed him most. Atarah knew Oren’s anger was aimed at Arwel Whitethorn, for two reasons: for what he’d done to Oren’s mother, and for being the very reason that Oren had never met his two siblings.

That hurt him the most.

His mother was not here to tell her side of the story.

And Oren had lost time with his brother and sister.

“Yes,” he admitted, lowering his eyes to her sleeves, hiding the emotions behind those pine green eyes. “I’m terrified, sweetheart.”

“Hey,” Atarah said. “You’ve gotten this far. If Endymion offered for you to come back to Doranelle with him, so you to meet your brother and sister, then you might as well go, Oren. It’s what you said you wanted. Isn’t it?”

Oren went silent then.

He wouldn’t look at her.

Oh.

“Oren,” she said, so gently, touching his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Her mate leaned into her touch, and sighed. “I’m not cut out for this life, Atarah. I was not born to be a prince.”

“You were already born a prince,” she corrected.

“I’m a bastard,” he muttered.

“Don’t,” Atarah said sternly. Her hand inclined his chin, so he’d look at her. “Don’t do that – not with me.”

“I’m literally the definition of the word.”

“Oren,” Atarah persisted.

He sighed again, this time long and frustrated. She took both his cheeks, and said to him, “You are more than your title, and more than insulting words, and more than you will ever know. If I had to call anyone a _bastard_ , I would certainly do it to your father’s face.”

Oren’s eyes widened slightly at her quiet rage, and perhaps Atarah could see a little perplexed joy beneath all that anger of his.

“Listen to me,” Atarah said. “Whatever happens, Oren, you decide what to do. It’s your call. Your uncle told you that, your cousin told you the same. And I am telling you that, too. Titles are titles. They will mean nothing if you want them to mean nothing. That’s just that.”

Oren rested his forehead against hers and kissed the tip of her nose. “That mind of yours,” he whispered, “I could hear you talk all day. Turning all my complicated thoughts into simple solutions.”

Atarah smiled then, eyes fluttering shut at his closeness. “Only if it were that simple.”

They paused, pulled back, and looked at one another. Oren bit his cheek as he thought of his next words. But as if she could read his mind just by looking into his eyes, Atarah said, “I’ll come to you. When things are better, I’ll come to you.”

“No,” he shook his head.

“Yes,” she argued.

“Atarah,” Oren began. “I’ll come to you.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Oren touched her chin and murmured, “Please?”

She paused. Assessed him for a second too long. “You can’t keep making those eyes at me in the hopes that I’ll agree everytime.”

“As long as it keeps working,” he said, smiling slightly, “I’ll keep trying.”

“Fiend,” she sighed.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, “will you kiss me?”

She kissed him lightly, pretending that her heart was a cloud, a faraway cloud, and not a brick in her chest. When she pulled back, Oren told her, “We have yet to speak…”

“Yes,” she interrupted, and touched his hand. “We do.”

Oren paused, seemingly stuck on everything he’d wanted to say. But Atarah beat him to it:

“I know we never got the proper time to know each other like we’d wanted to,” she whispered to him. “And I know that, at least for myself, I would have liked to have found out on my own, but I have no regrets about you, Oren. None at all.”

He smiled, wide and bright, painting all the world’s greys away. He said, “When I come to you, we will get that time. I promise you.”

“Yes?” She whispered, watching him.

He nodded. “You will show me your favourite places. I will walk with you over that beautiful coastline. Take your hand and spin you in the sunset. I will take my time getting to know everything you allow me to know.” He leaned in, into her ear. “How you react when I wrap my arms around you.” A kiss to her cheek. “How you look when I surprise you.” A kiss to her jaw. “How you sound when I make you laugh at the stupidest of jokes.” 

She wrapped her arms around him through the window, her fingers holding on to the strands at the back of his neck. “I will miss you.”

He held her just as tightly. So much so, that Atarah half-expected him to pull her out of the window and hold her forever. 

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

After a moment, he said to her, so close, “I will not say goodbye.”

“Me neither.”

“So,” he pulled back, touched her cheek, his smile a little sad. “When I see you again, sweetheart, I hope to bring flowers instead of blood.”

“We will never be in that kind of danger again,” she said to him. “I promise.”

A promise she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep.

But Atarah would promise him the world and try her hardest to give it to him.

“See you soon,” Atarah said.

Oren sneaked another kiss. “See you soon,” he said against her mouth, “with flowers.”

***

The prisoners were brought in front of the princess of Terrasen early in the morning, when half the staff was still asleep. Eva Ashryver cast a glance at Alric Nox as he approached, an air of undeniable arrogance about the spy as he strutted in his fine clothes, his gambler’s fingers playing with a shiny gold coin. As the prisoners were brought to her feet in chains, Alric stopped by her side, and raised a brow.

“Requesting my presence again, Princess? I shall swoon with so much attention thrust upon me this early in the morning.”

Eva shot him a grin. “I missed you terribly, Alric. You know, from our last conversation which took place fifteen minutes ago.”

“The gardens are awfully romantic,” Alric winked. “I cannot blame you.” He looked down at the prisoners, as if he’d just noticed them. “I did not know we were training this morning?”

Eva took two sips of her sugary coffee. “I’m very eager to get this started.”

Alric eyed her. He towered over her, as everyone did, and he noted the fact with a delicate nod. “You’re a ruthless little one. I like that.”

Eva turned her eyes to him. “Not many people do.”

“I guessed as much,” Alric conversed. “Ruthlessness is so often mistaken for cruelty.”

“Well,” Eva cooed, eyes snapping to the prisoners at her feet, “sometimes I blur the lines.”

The four guards in the room made sure not to let go of the chains, or have the prisoners too close to Eva. But the Princess walked down the steps of the Hall, and smiled down at them.

“Cunt,” the male spat onto the floor.

The guards visibly stiffened.

Eva sneered in a gesture of distaste. “I do have one of those, yes. Very well noted.” She squatted down, staring at the male’s face intently. She narrowed her eyes, memorizing his features.

“Stop looking at me, you-“

One of the guards struck him hard. Hard enough to make the male’s lip split open. His female counterpart gasped in rage.

“Vera,” Eva looked up at the sneering guard. “That won’t be necessary.”

“He will not speak to you like this,” she rasped out.

Eva smiled calmly. “Oh, that’s alright. It’s music to my ears, actually.”

“Think you can do it?” Alric said from behind her.

Eva rose, leaving her empty coffee on a nearby table. “Of course.”

Alric grinned. “Of course. Stupid question.”

The doors burst open, and in came the third-eldest Lochan. He always wore the darkest clothes he could find, but today Eva thought he looked like a storm come to life. His footsteps echoed in the great hall, hard soles against white marble. The cloak he wore was a deep, Terrasen green, so dark that it could almost be mistaken for black. It billowed behind him, as if he were a villain in a gruesome novel, preparing to unleash absolute hell on all the people who’d wronged him.

_Gods_ , what a face.

Eva could not help but watch him as Ragnar approached her and Alric, and admire the way his shoulders moved with every step. Her throat went momentarily dry in a very familiar way.

Ragnar spared no crumble of attention for the prisoners. His demeanour was as cold as a winter’s morning, and only Eva could see the village in flames shining within him.

“Ashryver,” he drawled in his usual way. “Alric.”

She could see he was not happy with this.

He was not happy at all.

But now was not the time.

“Shall we get started?” Alric smiled.

The prisoners rattled their chains, knowing what came next, shutting their eyes forcefully.

“No, no,” Eva tutted. “I need your eyes wide open for this.”

***

She was terrifying, Ragnar would give her that much.

He’d known it, too. Ever since they were little, Eva Ashryver had always terrified him from time to time. Left him shaking to the core. He remembered his brother Ferran daring them to jump over a large stream, where carnivorous fish awaited a precious meal. Ragnar had balked almost immediately. There was no way he was taking that jump. For what? To impress his dumb brother?

Ashryver had pushed him aside, though.

She’d made that jump.

And of course she crossed it.

Without even shifting. Without barely gaining any momentum. She’d done it and thrown a smile over her shoulder from the other side, and Ragnar had known, from that moment on, that Ashryver would spend her life tormenting him and terrifying the shit out of him every chance she could.

Ragnar was just frightened that this might seem like a larger stream, and Eva was not counting her steps.

She stared at him, hoping to meet his eyes, but Ragnar spoke to Alric instead. “Do you have a report for us?”

“Like I said to Eva this morning, Vanserra’s plan to meet with his little crew in the coast of Meah is still standing. Thanks for that little piece of information, dearies,” Alric said, winking down at the prisoners, eloquently ignoring their snarls, as he continued, “Of course your enemy would not be foolish enough to remain in the house he took the Lady of Suria and Oren to, and-”

“Going to Adarlan makes him feel safer,” Eva said, following Alric’s logic. “He doesn’t know we have witches patrolling Adarlan, now standing by for Manon’s orders. He’ll remain hidden, but thanks to these two,” she nodded at the prisoners, “we have an exact location.”

“So nothing’s changed,” Ragnar said.

“It’s good,” Alric assured him. “The plan is on track.”

Ragnar felt his jaw tense.

Eva watched him warily. “We can do this later if you…”

“No,” Ragnar said. “Let’s get it done with.”

This would only be the third time they practiced this. He would never be able to get used to the feel of his skin shifting, his bones readjusting, his muscles twisting and aching as they adjusted. Ragnar did not know how she did it to herself to easily. Did not want to know how much practice it took to shift and it not being excruciating for her.

Eva stepped closer to him.

Her scent flowed past him, beckoning him nearer. Only an hour or so ago, she’d been wrapped up in his arms, smelling of lavender-scented sheets and bath soaps, her fingers twisting on his hair, her head buried on his neck as she dreamed.

There was nothing Ragnar wished more than to be incredibly selfish.

To wrap her in his arms now, take her away to his bed, and have her for the rest of the day near him. To forget that this was a war against people who wished them dead, to forget that Eva had piled that up into her shoulders. To forget that she’d prohibited the whole world from interfering, even her own mother, who could also shift, except for him.

Gently, she touched his cheeks. Ragnar closed his eyes at the feel of her touch, bracing himself.

“I’ll try to make it hurt less,” she whispered to him, so softly.

“It’s alright, Ashryver.”

He meant it.

Then he felt it. The stinging sensation of his body changing. His hair uncurled; his body became several inches smaller. The hair at the back of his neck rose at the feeling of her hands moving from his cheeks to his shoulders. He felt a sneeze coming.

After a few minutes, she was done.

Fast – this time she’d been much, much faster.

Eva stepped back to examine her work, and as Ragnar opened his eyes-

“Ashryver-” He said, his heart weighing on his cheek as he watched her face. She was pale. As pale as a ghost. “You can’t- I told you not to push yourself.”

“I have to,” she said, her voice cracking at the edges. “It’s fine.” 

Her hair began to change first. Mimicking the female’s caramel curls, and matching eyes. Slowly, her features began to change too. Not one by one, like Ragnar’s – no, it was like a thousand changes at once. In the end, she breathed in, her new face as real as the one on the ground. She stared at Alric, “So?”

“Much better,” the spy said. “Took you barely anytime at all.”

“Still,” Eva said. “I need to be faster.”

Ragnar’s skin was as pale as the male’s. His violet eyes felt too sensitive to the light. He felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

The prisoners watched on with absolute horror in their faces, even if watching Eva use her abilities was not new to them. Ragnar saw it then – the disgust. They truly believed that Eva and Ragnar should not exist.

“You should rest for today,” Alric advised, staring at Eva a bit warily. And then, when she didn’t respond, Alric’s eyes turned to Ragnar.

Ragnar nodded once, and gently touched her elbow. “Ashryver.”

“I should be doing this faster by now,” she whispered, staring at nothing, her eyes unfocused. “We’ve practiced enough. I can’t waste any more time.”

“Take them away,” Ragnar said to the guards. “My father would like to question them next.”

The guards nodded, and took the chained prisoners.

Alric stepped away, almost silently, and walked out of the hall, giving them some privacy.

As Eva lost focus, Ragnar felt himself slowly change back. He felt her powers leave him like disappearing smoke. The last few times they’d done this, Eva had told him shifting someone else was very different from only shifting herself.

“It’s like keeping a tight grip on a thousand invisible strings that keep slipping from your fingers,” she’d told him. “The more time passes, the faster they slip.”

When he was back to himself, the only thing still changing on Eva was her hair. The darkness came back to her strings, and the curls became softer, wider. Her hips widened, her lips puckered. Those green eyes turned to him. “I know you’re not happy with us doing this,” Eva murmured to him. “But I need you to know that I’m still willing to do this alone. I’d rather do it alone. You can turn back, Ragnar.”

He frowned, then pulled her closer. “I’m not turning back.”

“I’m giving you a choice.”

“Making me choose between you risking yourself on your own and doing this together is not much of a choice, Ashryver,” Ragnar said.

“I don’t wish to argue with you,” Eva said, looking away. She was still frighteningly pale in that light. “Not now.”

“Then don’t,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her ever so close. He kissed the top of her head, and said, “Don’t argue with me, then.”

Eva sighed into his tunic, and wrapped her arms around him. “Do you believe I can do this?”

There was no doubt in him. “Yes. I believe you’ll do it, Eva.”

Ragnar felt her smile, but he couldn’t force himself to face her. So he pulled her into him, until he had her completely against him, her body flush against his. Yes, he did believe in her.

He just hoped the Gods were in their favour if something terrible happened.

***

Laelia caught Eldon Lochan’s arm that morning, as he walked out of the library. No guards followed him, and Laelia had smartly avoided her own all morning.

Well.

As much as she could.

Which meant that she did not have much time left before they flanked her again.

Eldon gasped as she pulled him into a darkened hallway, and stuttered out, “Laelia?” As if he expected her to seduce him or something.

“Don’t look so horrified,” she whisper-shouted, hands on her hips. “We’re _hiding_.”

Eldon blinked at the youngest Galathynius princess, then narrowed his eyes. “From whom?”

“Guards, Eldon.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

A pause.

“Why?”

Laelia breathed in. “I think I know how to help Eva,” she said at last. “But I need your help.” When Eldon looked slightly more horrified, Laelia added, “I know Elide and Lorcan have threatened you and practically locked you inside this castle because you disappeared on us and almost got killed-“

“That’s one way to put it.”

“But I just need some information,” Laelia finished, a hopeful hint to her voice.

Eldon paused, then cocked his head to the side. “What are you planning?”

The princess watched him warily, and, deciding that she would, indeed, trust him, she finally whispered, “Eldon, where can I find the portal to Prythian?”


	22. Chapter 22

“Welcome,” he said, his voice as sweet as marshmallows melting on the tip her tongue, as gentle as a summer’s night breeze kissing her cheeks. “To the City of Starlight.”

The balcony doors swept open, satin curtains billowing with the evening’s whisper-soft winds, showing a wide balcony shaped like a half-moon, the marble railing reflecting the last of the sun’s orange light as it slowly began to disappear into the white-capped mountains in the far distance. The purple skies were tinted with the darkest shade of blue – a shade that should have looked almost black, but it was vivid, bright, _alive_ , shimmering with a billion little lights peeking through. No matter what colours she blended, she would never, in a thousand years, be able to replicate that shade of blue, but María could imagine herself dipping a thin brush into a tub of crystal white paint, and splattering the white onto that blue canvas, creating a starlit sky that would never do justice to what she was looking at.

The world’s most talented painter would never be able to recreate it.

This was unlike anything in her world.

Her breath was cut off, quite literally, her chest restricting, restricting, until her heart felt like it could not fit inside her body any longer.

Human eyes were not meant to witness this many vibrant colours at once. María expected a headache to knock on her door soon, but for now she simply… stood, and looked.

Colourful little townhouses were neatly stacked close together in the cobblestone streets, yellows and pinks and blues and oranges, cold and warm, leading towards a large body of water – a river. A river shimmering like it was not made of water, but liquid diamonds, blues and greens twirling around each other until they blended together seamlessly. A grand bridge crossed that river, where people – Fae – walked hand-in-hand. A couple leaned against a streetlight, which might have been something straight of The Chronicles of Narnia, the candle inside the glass flickering as the male tucked a strand of hair behind his lover’s ear. The other male, in return, looked up with a smile, mouth moving to say something that she guessed was equally tender.

And the Fae – all different colours, all different sizes, shapes. Beautiful. All beautiful in their own right. María could watch them forever. See the speed with which they walked, the grace with which they moved. She could see them walk inside stores, fabric satchels hanging by their shoulders. They were dangerous. Stronger than she could ever dream of being. Faster. More observant. And yet, as she leaned against that marble railing and watched them interact, María did not feel like a rabbit cornered by lions. 

She almost felt as if… she could blend in. If she so wished.

Their clothes were something out of a novel. Fabrics like she’d never seen before, and styles that would surely turn heads in the human world. There did not seem to be any tendencies that they followed. They all dressed as they liked. Mixed colours as bright as the sun if they so pleased. There were no rules.

While her mind was trying to keep up with every detail her eyes found, María breathed in, tasting the air. It was colder – much colder than it should be at this time of year. Although, as she considered this, María guessed that, much like the human world, if different countries experienced different weather due to their geography, then this land might not abide to the seasons that she knew.

Which made her wonder…

This was still Earth, surely?

The sun that had now vanished was the same sun she looked at every morning, wasn’t it? How did a land this… endless fit inside these little pockets of the world? Could the Earth had been much larger once? Had the Fae hidden their worlds between dimensions to protect and preserve themselves against humans?

As her eyes turned to the stars, María had the sinking sensation of _smallness_. And as she felt Aidan slowly walk to stand beside her, following her gaze, a little realization hit her. If her theory ever proved to be true, that this was still Earth, then María surely had an infinite amount of knowledge that would made Aidan as shocked as she was to witness his world. He most likely had no idea what the planet looked like. He’d never seen a satellite before. He had no clue of the things that María knew.

And those things would freak him out.

Just as she was freaking out right now.

The thought was strangely comforting. Not the fact that she would frighten him, of course not. But the fact that… after all, she was not the only one having a hard time wrapping her mind around everything she’d learned. They would both be together in a box full of shocking revelations.

María knew she had not spoken for a long time. Night had darkened, and that dark blue sky was as bright as the sun. The stars seemed close enough to touch. Somewhere, far away, she heard music.

Aidan did not press her to speak. He did not speak at all, either. He stood there, taking in his city, watching her from time to time, perhaps to make sure she was not bursting into nervous tears, and he waited.

He would wait forever if he had to, she realized.

At last, when María finally found her voice, she managed to say, “I can see why you hide yourselves.”

Aidan turned his head towards her. Her voice had cracked slightly from disuse. María wrapped her knitted coat tighter around herself. “Do you have seasons here?” She asked before he could speak. “You have told me of seasonal courts. Are they all stuck in one season forever?”

Aidan paused, considering his words. When he finally spoke, his voice was still soft, but slightly nervous. “They can be. The High Lord controls the land. The land _is_ their power. Spring’s power – the very essence of the land – allows for the weather to remain as it is. Summer’s sun is always high and strong, because that is what is at the core of the earth beneath. And so on.”

She looked at him. “And Night?”

“We still have daylight.”

“And the season?”

“Varies,” Aidan shrugged. “Day, Night and Dawn all have rotative seasons. Like you do. Summer, Spring, Winter and Autumn. But Day will always be warmer than Night, and Dawn will always be colder than Day. I guess Night stands right in the middle.”

María’s eyes followed the elegant lines of his thin tunic, and she fought a shiver. “I don’t think we feel temperatures the same.”

For some reason, he smiled at that. “What do we feel the same about, María?”

The way he said her name made her mind a little scattered. She cleared her throat, and shrugged. “We both like bread.”

He laughed. Wide and bright, that smile. And the sound he made – like he couldn’t help it from blurting out of his mouth. It was more of a cackle than a full of laugh, but it warmed her heart anyway. A little voice in the back of her mind scolded, _Do **not** go there. We do **not** go there anymore. **Off** limits. Hands to yourself._

_His laugh is so pretty. His smile, too._

_Take a look at those teeth, though._

She did. _They’re not that sharp_.

_Sharp enough to break skin if he wanted._

_He doesn’t, though. He won’t hurt me._

_Won’t he?_

Her little argument with herself was cut short when Aidan turned his body towards her, leaning sideways against the railing. He was very close. Very close. Extremely close. It was awfully difficult to control the speed of her heart with him being close enough to touch. And even more difficult knowing that he heard it all, every change in her.

She was at a great disadvantage.

Unwilling to show anything on her face, she stood right where she was, facing the world ahead, watching him sideways. Aidan opened his mouth to remark on something, when his eyes dipped to her exposed neck.

María went cold at the look in his eyes.

His face changed instantly.

It took her a moment to process – the way his smile fell from his mouth. The way his eyes had darkened. The way he stepped back, as if she’d slapped him. It took her a moment longer to realize what had caught his attention.

The purpling bruises shaped like fingertips on her neck.

María’s body relaxed as she realized this. She leaned her forearms against the railing and didn’t bother to cover her neck up. It would not erase what had happened, anyway. “I know you’re blaming yourself, but I’ll tell you this one more time,” María said, her tone even. “I came here on my own. These are the consequences.”

She could tell, as she looked at him from the corner of her eye, that Aidan wished to argue. But he was choosing his words very carefully. Taking the time to calm himself down before he said something that would frighten her off. She read him so well. Too well.

Her eyes moved up and down his body once. “Is this how fury looks on you?” She smiled, but it was crooked and it felt tense to her. Still. “You know, most of us just snap when we’re angry. You’re doing a fine job of keeping it in.” Again, her eyes moved to his tense shoulders, to his closed fists.

“I don’t think I am,” he gritted out, and faced the city, too, before lowering his head, breathing in.

She watched him closely. “What would you do if you caught the man – the male – who did this to me?”

Aidan’s teeth gritted. She could see the muscle of his jaw tick.

“You promised me honesty,” she said to him.

Aidan snarled low. It was a startling sound. But it didn’t freeze her to her bones. It just… unsettled her a little. It was the type of sound a predator would make to warn you to leave him be.

María narrowed her eyes. Usually, she would not be the one to poke the bear with a stick.

Usually.

“You’re not scaring me with that,” she said stubbornly. “I can snarl too, you know.”

“I would tear him apart limb by limb,” Aidan growled. It was so low, but so clear, and his body had turned to her to fast María got the type of whiplash you get when you’re on a waterslide that takes a too-sudden turn you’ve not prepared yourself for. She did not move an inch. “I would crack his head open and leave him on the bloody steppes for the birds to finish him off.” He leaned in. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Her eyes didn’t leave his.

Aidan blinked, then seemed to take notice of their closeness. He didn’t move away. When he spoke again, he almost whispered, “How’s that for frightening you?”

She sucked in a breath.

He began to pull away.

Instinctively, she touched his forearm.

María blinked, surprised with herself. And Aidan watched her, too, shock on his face, too. She paused, letting his words sink in. “You’re not frightening me.”

His brows furrowed.

She said, “If my family knew…” A pause. “I reckon they’d have a similar reaction. Perhaps not as bloody.” She smiled a shaky smile. “But they _would_ seek justice. And they would make sure that male would suffer to the end of his days for putting his hands on me.”

A pause.

The city was full of noise.

But she was only aware of his breathing.

María’s hand gently pulled back from his arm. She said, “I’m not frightened of you. Out of everything that I have seen and heard and learned, you’re the last thing I’m scared of, Aidan.” 

Before she could rest her hand on the side of her body, he picked it up. As gently as he would handle a bird with a broken wind.

His touch made her flinch in the best way possible.

The kind of flinch when you’re surprised someone you care about touches you at last. And it may be the most insignificant touch – a brush of their knee against yours, their elbow connecting with yours so they get your attention, holding your hand for the first time… - but it still makes your head spin and your body jump.

He noticed it, and took it the wrong way. Slowly, he pulled back. But before he could, she held his hand in hers.

“Nothing makes much sense right now,” she admitted, her voice low, as if she was afraid the whole world would hear her, “but you do. You make so much sense to me.”

***

_Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit._

Only she would be able to kick his rage away like this. Seconds ago, nothing had been more appealing than flying off this balcony to find the male that had hurt his mate. His father’s plans would have gone to hell, then. He would have disobeyed both the High Lord and his Commander. Aidan would have done it.

He would have gone to find the fucker who’d left marks on her.

And now, here he was.

Melting like butter on top of toast.

It was very wrong. It was all so very wrong. She was going to be gone, and Aidan had sworn – he’d sworn to himself, to Naza, to everyone, that he would not cling to his mate. He’d forget, and move on, and let time do its dirty little work to erase her.

And now, here he was.

Fucking hypocrite.

Fucking coward.

One look, one smile, one touch from her and he was ready to throw himself into hell again.

But-

_You make so much sense to me._

Her hand on his.

_Her hand on his._

“Why did you come?” He murmured, swallowed hard, repeating the question he’d asked her before, the one that received no answer.

She paused. For a moment, it seemed as if she wouldn’t answer him again, but then she sighed. “I needed to know that you were real. That I hadn’t dreamed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That it had to be like that.”

“I know,” María said, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, too. I wish it was easier for us.”

_It could be_ , the devilish voice said.

Aidan shut it down.

_TELL HER_ , the voice screamed. _TELL HER WHAT SHE IS TO YOU._

_I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

_I just have her back. I can’t lose her so soon._

His mouth opened to say something – but then her head snapped to the city ahead of them. Her eyes furrowed. Her hand tightened of reflex. “Did you hear that?” She asked.

Alarmed, he blinked, and looked around. “What?”

María narrowed her eyes, frowning. Her gaze followed the line of the horizon. “I swore I…” A pause. “Who’s drumming?” She looked down.

“Drumming?” He asked.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to him again, eyes curious and wide. But they did not meet his. Instead, they lowered to his chest – to his heart.

She listened on.

Aidan sucked in a breath.

“Oh,” she said weakly.

Her own heart seemed to stutter, and then-

Gently, she raised her other hand, and placed it in the middle of his chest, feeling his heart within.

“How can I hear it?” She whispered to herself, shaking her head slightly. Her fingers splayed on his tunic, and Aidan watched in quiet, mesmerizing attentiveness, as his mate cocked her head to the side, listening on. Then, suddenly, a smile played on her lips. “That’s crazy,” she whispered. She looked up. 

Aidan took a step forward. Her hand pressed harder into his chest, but didn’t push him away. Instead, she met his eyes, her own watching him in wonderment.

The words were so easy.

So simple.

_There’s a reason for that_ , he’d say. _I’m yours, forever. That’s why._

They were stuck on his chest, unwilling to come out.

Her breathing hitched as his eyes lowered on their own to stop at her lips. Memorizing the shape.

“Scared, now?” He murmured.

“No,” she challenged, eyes following him like a hawk.

Aidan leaned further in, and she stood very still. Aidan intertwined their fingers, and her own closed on his tunic. Hesitating, Aidan touched his cheek to hers, his lips close to her ear.

Everything about her was intoxicating.

Mating bond aside, he couldn’t get enough of her.

Aidan allowed himself this, just this, standing there with her in the noise of the city, starlight above and beyond them, a sky of deep, dark blue embracing them in bright darkness. He realized, as his eyes fluttered shut, that she was tugging him a bit closer. Just ever so slightly.

Wrapped up in her warmth, Aidan could just-

Pull back. Just slightly.

He did.

Until he felt her breath brush his lower lip. She still wasn’t pulling back. But her heart was loud enough to make him open his eyes.

And he smiled slightly at what she saw.

His mate looked mildly shocked.

Conflicted between wanting to take things into her own hands and-

And what? Run away?

Pretend there was nothing between them?

He’d tried that.

María’s eyes followed the lines of his face, until she reached the pointed ends of his ears – and then back to his eyes.

She said, so softly, “You won’t kiss me.” An observation, rather than a question.

Their noses brushed briefly. He shook his head the slightest bit. “No.”

“Why.”

Aidan pondered this. Why, indeed.

He’d be damning them both, for sure.

Although… it was rather difficult keeping that in mind when she was so close and blatantly asking him why he wasn’t kissing her.

Cauldron drown him.

“I already took a step forward,” he said to her. “Come meet me.”

“I already did,” she said, leaning in ever so slightly. “I came here, didn’t I?”

Aidan smiled slightly, beginning to pull back. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Then he pulled back completely.

It might have been the hardest thing he ever had to do.

And he’d completed the Blood Rite.

She watched him. Aidan noticed the slight disappointment sinking into the depths of her eyes as she settled herself and her heart.

Aidan swallowed hard and said, “I’ll leave clothes more comfortable clothes for you to sleep in on your bed.” A pause. “Warm water will be waiting for you in your bathing chamber, if you wish to take a bath. I notice it helps me sleep.”

María watched him as he walked away. “What does that mean, _will be waiting_? Who’ll prepare it?” It’s like she already knew the answer.

Aidan snapped his fingers, and shot her a smile over his shoulder. “Magic.”

***

“Are you insane?” Eldon said to Laelia.

“Shhhh!” Laelia warned, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Will you help me or not?”

Eldon brushed her hand away and ran his fingers through his hair stressfully. “That plan of yours has every chance of not working,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I mean, think for a second, L. Like… I love you. I love to the ends of this earth, I do, and that is not to say that I don’t believe you’ll accomplish it, but-“

“Don’t give me the _I love you_ talk and then put a _but_ at the end of it,” Laelia frowned. “You’re not just my friend, you’re my family, Eldon. I expect better from you.”

He sighed. “What if you don’t find what you’re looking for?”

“Isn’t that what’s always weighing on your mind?” Laelia asked in return. “Wasn’t that a possibility when _you_ tried to find the way to Prythian? Look, your parents have you under their gaze, but no one will suspect me if I go.”

“Yeah? And what if you don’t come back?”

It was Laelia’s turn to sigh. “Opening up the worlds would be showing people that we can live together again. Both worlds. Prythian and Erilea. It will show people that the walls that were built a billion years ago have no meaning now. Showing that two different worlds can coexist will show people like Vanserra that shifters and demi-fae are just like them.”

“Or you can start a war,” Eldon said. “We don’t know what Prythian is like-”

“Luna does,” Laelia insisted. “And Seren-”

“You cannot judge an entire people based on what you know about one of them, Laelia.”

“Exactly,” Laelia said, gesturing. “If you cannot judge an entire people, don’t assume they’re going to start a war with us. This is the answer. It doesn’t have to come with violence and fighting and Eva endangering herself. Eldon, we can do this. We can prove that all of us are different in equal measure. That is our answer.”

Eldon leaned against the wall, shaking his head gently. “L… what we know about these two worlds and its history is…”

“Something that you’ve been studying for months now,” Laelia said. “You’ve put together a good theory, one I can stand with. The theory that these worlds had once been one is viable, Eldon. It’s possible. And it may be our only chance to end, once and for all, these wars against our people.”

“There’s too much at risk,” he said softly.

Laelia paused. “There will always be a lot at risk.” She touched his hand. “Peace if worth it. Do you not think so?”

Eldon looked away, considering. Laelia squeezed his hand. “Trust me.”

The Lochan twin met the princess’ eyes. With a little hesitance, and with an encouraging nod from her, Eldon finally squeezed her hand back.

***

Luna Moonbeam was not in a good place.

She did not know how much time she spent sitting on the floor of her chambers, her back against her bed, her eyes turned to the window above, night falling over the Terrasen gardens like a dark cover over the palace.

Her fathers have spent the day being angry at her. For good reason.

Not only had she disobeyed her father, she’d blatantly ignored his wishes. He’d compromised – he’d encouraged her to search for Atarah with his help. Luna had taken terms into her own hands.

Of course, she would not take it back. She would accept their anger, because at the end of the day, she had succeeded. Truthfully, it had almost cost her life. She’d never dived so deep into her own powers like that, and it could’ve come to a bitter ending, but she’d still done it. She’d managed to get her friend back. She just wished she hadn’t hurt her fathers.

So, what now? Atarah was off to Suria, which relieved her a bit, but tomorrow, at first light, Eva and Ragnar would be gone, and she would be stuck here doing _nothing_.

One thing Luna could not bear was loneliness. 

Never had been able to bear it.

She’d been a clingy youngling. Always circling around people’s legs. She rarely needed the attention but… she could never be by herself anywhere. It frightened her more than she liked to admit.

That had certainly not changed.

Because when she was alone, everything that was bad and ugly and terrifying came crawling to her, claws reaching for her mind whenever those memories and fears had a chance to find her. It would send her into a spiral.

Luna folded her hands into her lap, and sniffed.

Was she being selfish for wanting him?

In the midst of a war, she should feel bad for thinking of Seren, shouldn’t she? With everything going on, he should be the last person on his mind.

But while everything was so dark, Seren was a star showing her the way.

And perhaps Luna was tired of being strong.

It was all fine putting her bravery on display for weeks on end, but there had to be a breaking point. Was she really that awful for giving in, sometimes?

Was it that shameful to think that Seren was the only one that could ease her heart right now?

She heard her father’s footsteps in the hall.

Heard the guards pull back, the soft knock, then the doors creaking open when she said nothing.

Her glassy eyes remained stuck to the window, even as her father approached her.

He sat by her, legs crossed.

Luna sniffed, and then Fenrys said, “You remind me of your father when you make that face.”

It was true, she knew. She’d mimicked Vaughan’s brooding features time and time again when she was younger. It had stuck.

“We’re not angry.”

“Just disappointed?”

“ _Scared_ , Luna,” Fenrys said softly, his voice like an ache. “We were scared for you. Hours upon hours of you being gone… what if I’d lost you?”

She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them close to her chest. “Why does no one ever talk about Leander?”

Shock made her father fall silent.

Luna looked at him calmly. Numbly. She whispered, “I want to speak his name and not have silence descend. He lived in my heart for years. I loved him. Now he’s gone. The truth hurts more than I could ever admit, but it _is_ reality. I need you all to stop tip toing around me. I need you to understand, papa, that healing, for me, is speaking his name. Saying it out loud. Remembering him as he was, as I loved him.” A pause. “Sometimes, when I’m alone, I think I can feel him. Which I know is not true, and just wishful thinking. But in those times, I’m reminded that he _was_ here, and that he loved me back, and that helps.” She turned to look at the window. “And it helps when I do something good, papa. I left because I knew you would not allow me to go on my own, even if my plan had higher chances of succeeding than sending search parties. When you want to stop me from moving, from helping, when you want me to just sit around like this and wait… I can’t do it. I won’t do it. And I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry for all the worry I brought upon you and dad, but I will do what I need to do to help. And that is how I heal, papa.”

Fenrys watched her. There were tears prickling his eyes, which he blinked away.

“I know you do it because I’m your daughter,” Luna said, “and you love me. I love you, too. And I want to protect you as much. But I cannot shelter you from heartbreak, and you cannot shelter me, either. Avoiding Leander and keeping me in this room with guards following me around is not going to stop me from getting hurt.” A pause. “Loss is sometimes inevitable, papa. As is hurting. They’re all part of life.” She reached for his hand, and squeezed it. “I’m sorry for worrying you. You’ll never lose me. Not in any way.”

Fenrys pulled her into his arms like he used to when she was a little one. He tucked her head under his chin, and said, “I’m sorry, my darling. I thought not speaking his name was best.”

“I know,” Luna whispered. “I want to celebrate him. Remember the good. I know I’m healing slowly, papa. But what matters is that I am healing.”

“Yes,” he said gently. “Of course, that’s what matters.”

There was a pause, where Luna allowed to be comforted as if she were still a child crying to her father. After a moment, however, Fenrys murmured, “You want to go to him, don’t you?”

_Him_ – Seren.

She froze a bit.

Fenrys pulled back gently, and touched her cheek. “You found him when you needed him most,” he said. “If he is what you need now, Luna, I think you know where to find him.”

She watched him carefully. “But…”

“I’d rather have you safe, than have you here, where you have to keep guards with you.” Fenrys sniffed slightly. “Worrying will do you no good, either. No one will be able to stop Eva from doing what she has to do. And you’re right. Waiting around will do nothing.” A pause. “Just, please, be safe.”

Luna wrapped her arms around him. Squeezing him until his breath failed him. She felt her father smile as he held her back. He said, “My little darling. Everything is going to be alright.” When she pulled back, Fenrys nodded, “Now, go to him. Rest your mind for a little while.”

Luna gave him a thankful, teary smile. “I’ll come back soon.”

Fenrys kissed her head. “I know you will.”

***

Seren Archeron felt tears coming for absolutely no reason.

His house felt terribly empty and hollow.

It had been over a weak since he saw her, and while he did not expect it to be easy, Seren had not expected it to feel excruciating. Being away from her was like removing a limb.

It was an odd feeling to have.

Seren was not used to needing someone this badly. It was far from the feeling of dependency, but it was always on his mind, like a dark cloud hovering above him. If he could be sure that she was safe…

His heart would rest easy.

Now, nights became unbearable.

He lifted himself up from his bed, and sat at the edge, wondering why his eyes were stinging so. Could it be her?

_Who hurt you, my love?_

Seren led a hand to his heart, as if inside him was a rope that he could pull to bring her back to him.

With a heavy sigh, Seren let himself fall onto his unmade bed, running his fingers through his hair. It had been _a day_. His muscles ached; his head felt ready to explode. Training the younglings served to be a good distraction, but Cauldron damn it. What were kids made out of these days, iron?

A buzzing noise pulled him out of his thoughts, and Seren rose as quick as lightning. Without a second thought, without hesitation, he walked to the doors leading to his balcony and pulled them open-

Pale pink dress billowing in the night wind. Threads of gold being brushed back to reveal a freckled face, gentle brown eyes snapping to him-

Seren did not even get a second to be shocked.

Before he knew it, the force of Luna’s arms had thrown him crashing onto the floor.

***

_You almost kissed him._

_I did. Oh, God. I really almost did that._

Sirens in her mind. A million of them.

She sat biting her nails on the edge of the tub, the water still moving with pastel coloured soaps.

_And worst – he’d wanted me to._

Her stomach churned with nervousness. This was unlike her. Totally unlike her. She would never, ever, in a million years beg someone to kiss her.

_You didn’t exactly beg…_

_I kinda did._

In the silence, she remembered the way he’d touched her cheek with his, as if he’d brush his mouth against her ear.

_Come meet me._

They were playing a very dangerous game with each other.

One day ago, she’d almost been as good as dead. Tonight, she’d been melting in his arms. Pulling him closer, even. _Oh, God. Oh, no. Oh-_

She remembered the first time they’d met.

María had been so stunned by him. So… weirdly fascinated. Why had she been so keen on knowing him? Had she a sixth sense after all? Had she known, from that very moment, that, despite his glamour, Aidan was something else?

He’d made her ask such forward questions that day. He’d made her act like she’d never acted before. Never dared to.

Like a lovestruck fool.

Like a girl in a romantic movie falling in love at first sight.

_Come meet me._

How had she become so impulsive, and so… so… _daring_? This was unlike any romance she’d read. And María was shocked to know that she wouldn’t find similarities with any of those characters. She’d get no good advice there. Oh, no.

This was a strange story from beginning to end.

And yet.

And _yet_.

She was itching to read it.

_Get a fucking grip._

_It will never work. You’ll get nothing but heartbreak from this._

The thoughts swirled around in her head as she looked at herself in the mirror, wearing his clothes. _I look so strange,_ she thought, cutting a glance at her flushed cheeks. The line of his shirt thankfully hid the bruises. She smelled like him.

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

María leaned against the sink, tapping a finger to her lips thoughtfully.

Admitting that she liked him a fair amount was like a slap to the face.

Admitting that she liked him more than she ever liked anyone was like missing a step on a long staircase and having your heart drop to your stomach, thinking, for that one half-second, that you’re going to fall off the face of the earth and die.

She narrowed her eyes at herself. Of course, the first person she’d fall for would be _unreachable_. Of fucking course.

“I’d be better off falling madly in love with like,” she whispered, “Shawn Mendes or something.”

_Hell_.

_Come meet me._

Not great. Not great. Not great.

That thrill in her chest – it wasn’t great.

Not great at all.

María wondered if he was still there.

Would he sleep there?

Would he go back to his own home and leave her by herself?

Perhaps that would be best.

She hated that he was as silent as a ghost.

Breathing in, María told herself that she would just… check. Just to see if he was still there. It wouldn’t hurt to look, would it?

Tip toing out of her chambers, she peeked her head out of her door.

_You’re being ridiculous._

Shushing her own little voice, she walked into the hallway so, so slowly. The floor-to-ceiling windows let the moonlight shine in. María stood there for a second, just admiring the view. Her instinct was to snap a picture. _Priorities, María_ , she reminded herself. _Priorities!_

_You’re spying on your crush. That’s your priority?_

She’d have to stop arguing with herself sometime tonight.

She looked down the stairs, but her view was cut off.

She tried to listen for him, but nothing.

María reckoned that even if he was down there twerking, she’d hear nothing.

Then that image made her stifle a giggle with her hand.

_Focus._

Was she crazy enough to go through with it?

Tomorrow he’d take her back to the portal and she would most likely never see him again.

Sadness tore at her. It shouldn’t have. It really, really, shouldn’t have.

But hell, it did.

That was for the best, of course.

But-

_Come meet me._

What did she have to lose? Hadn’t she already taken the leap, anyway?

She’d allowed him to grow inside her heart, and she’d allowed herself to like him that much. Surely, this wouldn’t hurt.

It would be playing on her mind all night if she didn’t take that step.

Yes, yes, it was unlike her, yes, and yes, it was batshit crazy, and yes, of course, she might be losing her damned mind.

But-

Perhaps it was like diving into a cold sea, or taking a band-aid off. It’d only hurt for the first few seconds.

Then she could go on living in _peace_.

He’d probably already caught her scent or the uneven beat of her heart, and he already knew that she was standing at the top of the staircase like a fool.

_Don’t turn back. You’ve already come too far._

_Dive in._

_Rip it off._

So she took a step.

And another. 

And another.

And then she was at the end of the last step. He was in the kitchen, preparing tea for himself. His clothes were much more relaxed now, but still dark and formal and beautifully strange. When she took that last step, pulling her damp hair back from her face, the trousers he gave her dragging on the floor almost comically, Aidan’s eyes met hers and she could feel flames over her skin. Suddenly, her courage failed her.

Aidan placed his tea down calmly. He leaned a hand against the counter casually. His face was anything but casual.

His eyes burned her.

He said not a word.

Surely, human hearts were not designed to beat this fast. She knew this. She studied this: nope. Not normal at all.

Aidan did not move.

_Oh, yikes. He really expects me to come to him._

_This is fine, this is good_ , she reminded herself. He was giving her control. Assuring her that the choice was hers.

But she’d made that choice the moment she looked at him for the first time.

Unknowingly, but still.

Trembling legs led her to him.

She saw him hold on to the counter. He wanted to meet her halfway, and was forcing himself to stay where he was.

When she stood very close, she could smell the herbs on his tea. Camomile. And something else. 

_Sugar_.

He had a sweet-tooth.

Aidan looked down at her. He looked like he wasn’t breathing.

María breathed in. _Do not chicken out_. “Where are the wings?” She asked.

Her mouth was dry and her voice was a croak and she felt a little silly. But Aidan smiled slightly, and with a flutter of shadows, his wings folded neatly behind him.

“If it startles you, I can…”

“No,” she whispered. If she was going to take a leap, then she wanted everything about him to be real. “No glamours. Please.”

She looked at his wings again. The contours, the purply veins drawing paths across them. Something prickled at her to touch them, but her hands stayed right where they were.

She knew the moment the sight of those tenebrous wings became familiar was the moment she was officially done for.

Oh, well.

“I have a question,” María said.

He smiled. “Oh?”

Her heart ached. “There’s something I want to do first.”

His eyes followed her as she came closer. The words had felt strange on her tongue, but she’d said them with such… tenderness, that it struck her as much as it had struck him.

Aidan dared to touch her cheek, so gently. It was feather-light. María sucked in a breath and leaned into his touch. She’d come to him, but she felt too nervous, and she hoped he would take the reins from here.

But Aidan simply smiled, and touched his brow to hers. “Go on,” he said.

“I’m already here,” she said, eyes fluttering closed when Aidan erased any distance between them. His arm was wrapped around the middle of her back.

“Exactly,” he whispered, his breath dangling off her parted lips. “So go on.”

She counted to three.

Just to make sure this is what she wanted.

She pulled him down, rose on her tiptoes, and met his lips.

Her mind awoke, like she’d been asleep her entire life.

Aidan’s hands trembled. She could feel them, as she touched his cheeks to give him another feather-light kiss. Her heart thrummed, and-

Again, that drumming. His own.

_Woosh_.

Enormous wings wrapped around her, keeping her there. Warmth swept over her like a wave, from her head, to her bare feet. Aidan opened his eyes to stare at her, and he smiled, and María thought she might be smiling too, for her jaw hurt and she felt bubbling laughter growing inside her chest. Aidan kissed her cheek, her other cheek, her nose, her chin. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands swallowed by the sleeves of his shirt. How could he kiss her with such adoration? She could not allow such a thing.

Touching his cheek, she turned his face to her. She placed a sweet kiss on the centre of his lips, and said, “Happy, now?”

“Very,” he beamed.

She swore his eyes glowed.

They stayed like that for a moment too long – not long enough – until Aidan whispered, “And your question?”

María braced herself.

_You promised you wouldn’t chicken out._

“You said your mate didn’t want you,” she whispered.

Aidan’s eyes snapped open.

Even his wings became tense.

María watched him intently. He seemed to pull her closer on instinct, as if he thought she might run away from him.

He said nothing.

He was frightened, she noticed. He was frightened of what she might say. And confused – confused as he stared down at her, as to why she was still there in the first place.

She licked her lips, choosing her next words carefully. _Go on_. Her voice lost its strength. “Were you that certain I wouldn’t want you?”

He was so shocked he let her go.

_Stumbled_ , actually.

His wings rose slightly, as if, unconsciously, he was preparing to take flight. Aidan whispered, “What?”

It had been a wild guess.

Something she’d considered as she’d sat in that bath, staring at nothing, wondering why it was possible that she could hear his heart as loud and as clear as if she had her cheek pressed against his chest. Wondering why, when it came to Aidan, everything made her want to grasp on to him as tightly as she could. Why, why, why.

Then, she remembered their conversation clearly.

_“Do **you** have a mate?”_

_“No.”_

_“You’re lying to me. You promised not to lie.”_

_“My mate doesn’t want me.”_

_“Why not?”_

Because she’d balked away from him as if he had been ready to tear her apart with his teeth. Because he’d seen, first-hand, how frightened she’d been of him.

His face went pale as chalk.

“What?” He whispered again.

So, it was true. 

María couldn’t know what that meant – where that put them both, but-

Mate. Companion.

It explained some things.

“I’m your mate,” María whispered back. “Aren’t I?”

***

“Luna?!”

She squeezed the living daylights out of him.

He couldn’t take a breath.

Oh, gods, she was here.

Cauldron, she was in his arms.

Nevermind that his lungs hurt. He sat up with her in his arms and squeezed her right back. Had he brought her here? Was he dreaming?

Could he be dreaming?

“You’re not dreaming,” she murmured, kissing his cheek as she pulled back.

He’d been whispering it to her – _Am I dreaming? Oh, gods, am I dreaming, Luna?_

Or perhaps she did read his mind.

He couldn’t care.

Seren touched her cheeks, and nevermind that they were both on the ground like idiots – she was here. She was real. She was in his arms.

His mate.

“Hey, stranger,” he whispered, choking on a laugh, as his thumbs traced the freckles on her cheeks.

“Hi back,” Luna said, watching him.

When he kissed her, Seren’s heart finally eased. For the past week, it had felt like he was constantly struggling to keep his head above the water, a sea of cold, unforgiving waves pushing him down, down, down into despair with not knowing if she was safe, and well. Now, he could breathe.

Now, he could rest.

Luna smiled against his lips, and breathed a soft, adorable laugh as Seren pulled her ever so close. She said, “I didn’t know if I… if you were going to be home, and I know I have no way to announce my arrival, but I hope-”

“No,” he kissed her, “I don’t mind,” again, “not one bit,” again, “not at all.”

Luna grinned, before allowing her hands to run down his bare chest, to feel his warmth beneath her palms. She said, “I needed to see you.”

There were a lot of unsaid words between them. The last time they’d touched like this… well, things had escalated quickly, and it was too easy to lose herself in him. But to see him, to get to kiss him, and talk to him…

Luna’s heart felt lighter already.

Seren picked her up in his arms, and she squealed at the sudden movement. Smiled, so, so wide, and bright, when Seren placed her down onto his mattress and hovered above her, pestering kisses wherever he could reach.

“I missed you,” he said with each kiss. “I’m absolutely, pathetically, glad that you’re here.”

Luna’s gentle hands touched his cheeks. They stared at one another in that quiet, sweet moment, sharing breath, sharing a feeling, sharing a lot more that could not be said yet. Luna admired the fall of his hair over his forehead, the blue eyes watching her with incredible tenderness, the gentleness of his features as he gazed down at her. If Luna could gather in her hands all the weight of what she felt for him, she was certain she would have the weight of thousands of worlds on her palms.

He kissed the tip of her nose, and Luna whispered, “It’s not pathetic.” She brushed his hair away, out of his eyes. “I missed you. I needed you tonight.”

Seren lowered his brow against hers, asking, “What happened?”

Luna’s smile faltered slightly. Her thumbs gently traced his jawline, and Seren’s eyes fluttered shut, leaning into her touch. “My heart felt very heavy,” she whispered. “And the only person I wanted to see was you.”

It was as much of a confession as she would allow herself to give.

Yet.

But still, as Seren looked at her again, those eyes plucked the words right from her chest, deep down inside her heart where they’d been hiding for weeks now, and before she knew it, she continued, “Perhaps I will never know what has led me to you, but to this day, and for as long as I get with you, I’m eternally grateful to the stars that pointed me the way.” Her hands caressed his hair, her gaze meeting his. “I was broken in many ways when I met you. And I think that, pulling myself out of that darkness would have been much harder to bear if I had not known you.” Her throat closed up; tears prickled her eyes. Those were words she had not even allowed herself to think, let alone speak out loud before.

“You would have still done it, love,” he whispered back.

“I know,” Luna breathed. “But you make is so much easier. You make me feel…” She took a breath, gathering herself before she burst into tears. “You make me feel unashamed to cry, to scream, to feel pain. Things that I always thought I had to keep to myself. It must sound silly, but,” she sniffed slightly, shrugging, “sometimes all we need is someone to be there and tell you that it is okay to feel what you feel. And you’re that person. You’re my person.”

“Luna,” Seren murmured.

“To whatever has led me to you,” Luna said, “I’ll be forever thankful.”

She kissed him. Lightly, so gently, just a brush of her mouth against his. But-

_But_. 

Seren had frozen.

When Luna pulled back to look at him, her head resting on the mattress, something cold and sharp bit at her. She realized it was fear, as she stared at him. Whatever she’d said had not sat well with him, Luna could tell.

Seren said nothing.

She spoke to much, was her first thought.

But then Seren touched her cheek, and she realized he was trying very hard not to spill tears of his own.

Startled, she lifted herself up on her elbows to touch his cheeks. “Seren,” she murmured, “what’s wrong?”

And then her fears were aimed at something else entirely as he whispered to her, “I have something to tell you.”

Her hands pulled back as if he’d burned her.

A million possibilities struck her mind, one after another, each one more horrific than the previous.

“Seren,” she said.

He lowered his eyes. “I know why – how – you found me.”

She waited, and nothing came.

Her stomach churned.

“Don’t hate me,” he begged her, kissing her brow.

Luna blinked. “I could never hate you.”

Seren touched her cheek.

She said, “I mean it.” Her heart trembled. “Tell me.”

Seren breathed in. Once, twice. And then, “You’re my mate, Luna.”

***

The journey to Meah took one day and a half by carriage.

At nightfall, as far from the main location as possible, Alric’s spies had arranged an inn for Eva and Ragnar to stay at. In the carriage, Eva had shifted herself and Ragnar features, so they looked completely different. Their carriage was modest, and so their appearances also had to be. Just a couple, a completely normal Fae couple, looking to spend a lovely night at an inn, so they could explore the village in the morning.

Ragnar had barely spoken the whole ride.

He’d barely touched her in days.

Inside, it was cosy and it smelled of spices and herbs that made Eva’s mouth water. This particular village was mostly inhabited by Fae, so the female that greet them paid no mind to them at all. Ragnar wove the story that they were newly married and visiting Meah from Wendlyn. Charmed, the female led them to a room, brought them supper, and smiled at them both, not knowing who she was speaking to, not knowing that it was the Princess of Terrasen standing in front of her, plotting to kill a male.

For a moment there, Eva pretended this was her life.

Her and Ragnar had just gotten married. It was wonderful, and lovely, and totally like a romance novel. He would pick her up and take her through the threshold, and they would lie awake the entire night, trading kisses, wrapped around each other in the bedsheets until daylight came, then stride hand-in-hand on the cobbled streets until it was late evening, then perhaps he would take her dancing, even if he was not a dancer himself, just because he knew she liked the music and the dirty songs and he wanted to make her happy. For a moment, for a day, it would be easy.

They were not those people.

Ragnar didn’t pick her up and take her through the threshold.

When the female left them, Eva let go of her abilities and sank into the tough bed, the smell of the stew spreading through the room. She slowly came back to herself, and Ragnar did, too.

She tried not to show how much that exhausted her.

Tomorrow, she would have to be better.

She couldn’t get this tired.

Ragnar mumbled something about going to freshen up, and Eva was left alone with her thoughts, hearing him in the adjacent bath chamber.

On a roof somewhere, a shadow moved.

They had spies keeping an eye on them, of course. Looking out for their safety.

Her mother had insisted she come, too. But Lysandra did not know Vanserra’s face. Besides, Eva thought her mother had given enough already. All of them did.

It was their turn now.

Her mate took his time.

She thought maybe he resented her. She couldn’t blame him if he did. She might take up space in his bed, and he might love her, but Ragnar would hate her for this. For forcing him to choose.

It was not fair, she knew.

Of course, she knew.

But it was the only way to keep him safe once and for all.

To end this.

It didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

Eva sniffed slightly, and lied back on the hard mattress, staring at the wooden planks of the ceiling. If he loved her, he had to understand. Right?

And Ragnar did love her.

She believed it with every fibre of her being.

But the fear that, after this, things would never return to normal…

And worse – the fear that something could go wrong and he’d get hurt-

He opened the door and Eva watched him, her head on the pillow, her knees coming to her chest, as she noticed the hard lines of his face, the shadows under his eyes. They hadn’t gotten that much sleep in the carriage anyway, and she knew all of this was weighing on him. If only she could assure him that she would never allow anyone to lay a hand on him again-

“Are you angry at me?” She found herself asking, her voice small in the silence of their room.

Ragnar’s head snapped to her as he began to remove his clothes, folding them neatly on the nearby chair. “What?”

Eva closed her mouth. She breathed in once. Then, “Do you hate me for this?”

He looked up. “No, Ashryver.”

Silence.

He shook his head. “ _Hate_ you?” He said. “I couldn’t hate you.”

“But you _are_ angry.”

Ragnar looked out the window, and she had her answer.

“I’m not angry,” he assured her. “I’m… frustrated.”

“Why.”

“The female I love has a knack for self-sacrifice,” he drawled, pulling down his trousers. “Do you think that’s a reason for me to smile?”

Eva worked her jaw. “You would have done the same if it had been me. No, you would have been worse. There would be no compromise with you, at all.” She turned on the bed, her back to him. “Hypocrite.”

She heard him sigh.

Perhaps she _was_ begging for a little of his attention.

Admittedly, in a very childish way.

But Eva didn’t push him back when Ragnar wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her closer. “I love you,” he whispered against her neck, “self-sacrificing and everything. But it does frighten me.”

This was as vulnerable as he’d allowed himself to be around her for days.

Eva paused, then turned in his arms. “Not a good reason to ignore me.”

“Fuck’s sake, Ashryver, I wasn’t ignoring you. My mind is somewhere else.”

“That’s not comforting.”

He touched her chin. “I’m scared for you. Can you accept that?”

“No,” Eva said. “Because I won’t fail.”

“You are a stubborn-”

“Incredible, beautiful female that you love.”

“You do like to throw that in my face.”

Eva smiled slightly, touching his cheek. Ragnar kissed the side of her face, and Eva parted her lips, looking down at his wondering hands. Breathing in when those hands slipped under her dress, parting her legs.

Her eyes met his, “You’ve not touched me for days,” she whispered.

His hands halted – at the sadness he heard on her voice, saw in her eyes.

Ragnar sighed, touching his brow to hers. “I wasn’t angry at you. My mind was just…”

Eva touched his cheeks gently. Then she kissed him, briefly, softly. She whispered against his mouth “I will protect you forever.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said.

“Why?” Eva asked. “That is what you do for me. Why is it different?”

His hands resumed their work, tracing the lines of her stockings. Eva breathed in, watching him as Ragnar said, “You always have an answer at the tip of your tongue, don’t you, Ashryver?”

His voice was soft, though.

As were his hands.

When he finally touched her where she wanted him most, her thighs tensed. Her mouth went dry. She could not speak.

“Except in these moments, when I have you melting for me.” Ragnar touched her slowly, but expertly enough that, within minutes, she felt like she might unravel at any moment. Her hand held on to his neck as he kissed her, her thighs clamping around his hand.

Ragnar pulled back just slightly. He said, “Already, my love?”

Toying with her. The bastard.

Eva stifled a sound as he forced her legs open again. “Should I give you another pretty bite that you can admire in the mirror later?” He asked her, mouth dripping honeyed words into her ear, making her tremble. The thought of him biting her again was stuck in her brain, sending her further into madness.

“Please,” she whispered, barely audible.

“Is that what you want?” He asked her. “Me biting you?”

He would do nothing until she said it. _Bastard_. “Yes,” she murmured quietly.

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” Eva breathed.

Ragnar was pleased to oblige – for once. He moved down her body, placing a sweet little kiss between her breasts.

Her dress was pulled up, up to her waist, and Eva watched through heavy lids as Ragnar dragged kisses up her thigh. Her stocking was pulled down. He said, “This one will be for me to admire.”

Not once did he stop touching her. Not once did he stop hitting that sweet spot.

“Ragnar,” she whispered, eyes fluttering shut as sensation built up inside her.

He dragged his teeth on the inside of her thigh. When she felt his teeth pierce her skin, Eva had to turn her mouth to the pillow to contain the strings of desperate moans that followed.

Her thighs fell limp on the bed, and a trail of kisses was left on her body, over her clothes, up to her throat. He wrapped her body in his arms, and just-

Held her. So tight.

Eva had her eyes closed, listening to the quick drum of his heart. Her cheek pressed further against his chest, her hand pressing right where his heart lay.

“When this is over,” he whispered to her, against her head, “I will court you like I have always wanted to.”

“Will you?” Eva said, attempting humour on her voice, but it had just sounded dream-like.

“Yes,” he said, seriously. “Take you on walks, buy you ridiculous gifts that you will laugh at, steal pastries for you, take you to those dances you love and do my best to keep up.”

Her heart thrummed with happiness.

“And then?” She whispered.

“And then,” Ragnar said, “when you allow me to, I will ask for your hand. And if you say yes, I will be the luckiest bastard this world has ever seen.”

Eva looked up at him, her head resting on his shoulder. “You want to marry me, Ragnar Lochan?”

He touched her cheek. “Do you doubt me?”

Eva smiled. “No,” she whispered. “No, I don’t doubt you at all.” She settled her head back down. “And then what?”

“Then, we will get our own place.”

“That sounds nice,” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “I always dreamed I would live in a cottage.”

Ragnar laughed softly. “A princess living in a cottage?”

“A lord living in a cottage?” She drawled back.

He was silent for a moment. “We can have a cottage. How will it be?”

“White,” she said. “With ivy climbing the walls. We will have a garden full of pink and yellow and red roses. It will have a stream near, so every morning we will wake up with the sound of water and birds chirping.”

“And then what?” He whispered.

“And then,” Eva whispered back, half-asleep. “I’ll get to love you forever.”


	23. Chapter 23

_One day before…_

Laelia stopped Eva in the middle of the hallway.

Even the guards looked surprised to see the youngest Princess out of bed at that ungodly hour.

“Evie,” Laelia said, already pleading.

Eva’s steps halted as she looked at Laelia, alarmed at her sudden presence. But as her cousin murmured, “I need to speak to you,” Eva knew right away what Laelia intended.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eva said softly. “And that’s final, L.”

Laelia pursed her lips.

“Is Ragnar okay with it?” Laelia said, crossing her arms.

The guards gave them some space to speak, moving to stand around the corner. Eva eyed them before she turned her eyes to Laelia. “Don’t pull the Ragnar card, Laelia. That’s not fair.”

“And is it fair that you’ve put all the weight of this war on top of your shoulders alone, without allowing anyone to help you?”

“Ragnar is helping me.”

“Because you gave him no other choice,” Laelia pointed out. “You gave us no choice, Eva. Listen-”

“Laelia,” Eva snapped.

Her cousin’s tone made Laelia flinch a little. It was very, very rare that she saw Eva’s eyes flash like that. Usually, when Eva lost her temper, it was around Ragnar, and Laelia was all too familiar with the screaming matches that followed, but Eva had never aimed that temper at Laelia.

“That is _enough_ ,” she said, her tone final. Eva clenched her fists at her side, unconsciously turning her hair three shades darker. “Things are already in motion. Alric has already sent his spies to oversee our journey and our stay. We cannot miss this chance to catch Vanserra and his crew. It might be the last chance that we have.”

Then Eva brushed past her, as if Laelia was nothing more than a curtain to be pushed aside.

Laelia bristled, turning on her heels. “Eva, just-“ She sighed. “Give me one more day. Please.”

Eva halted again. And Laelia knew she’d said the wrong thing.

“Why one more day?” Eva snapped her eyes to her.

Laelia swallowed. “Just so we can…” Oh Goddess. _Lie. Lie. Lie_. “…Find another solution?”

Eva’s features softened. She’d bought Laelia’s lie. Somehow.

“There is no other solution,” Eva murmured, her eyes incredibly sad. “If there was, I wouldn’t be putting my mate in danger.”

Laelia’s blood went cold at the realization-

“What?” Laelia whispered. “Wait, _mate_ -?”

But Eva was already turning, giving Laelia no further explanation. “Everything will be alright, L. I promise.”

Laelia watched the guards as they moved past her, following the other Princess.

Alone in that hallway, Laelia wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window into the night beyond. She breathed in, once, twice, a third time. It did not feel like enough.

From here she could see the Staghorn Mountains, where the portal to Prythian awaited her. Laelia’s plan had been to stop Eva from diving into that madness. And – her mate. Ragnar was her cousin’s mate.

Eldon had given her an exact location. She could still go, she reminded herself. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to stop Eva, but…

Perhaps she could still stop whatever might come next.

***

_Present…_

Atarah had missed the sea air.

But not even the sea could stop her mind from worrying.

She knew her family was worried for her. But Atarah could not spare reassurances. She’d needed to be alone after…

The Lady of Suria closed her eyes and breathed in.

Sometimes she thought of Hylas.

She considered what made people become like him. What turned kind hearts into twisted fates? Love, perhaps. Atarah recognized that love could turn you into your best self, or your worst. It could provide shelter, but leave you out in the rain all the same.

Her nose picked up the scent first.

Atarah did not have to turn her head to know who it was.

Ana, her maid, sat by her on the rocks, her clear eyes and her older, wiser face met the sea, before turning to her, slowly. She smiled, as she always did, with a kindness she reserved for everyone – but specially for Atarah.

“Have you come to tell me my siblings are wreaking havoc?”

Ana grinned. “Not at all. They are behaving beautifully.” A pause. “They are worried for you, my dearest girl. And so am I.”

“I don’t want to trouble you, or anyone,” Atarah said, dipping her toes into the freezing water. “I just need to come to terms with everything on my own.”

“I understand.”

Sometimes you just needed that. A, _that’s alright_. Or a, _I understand you_. And nothing else. Sometimes, all it took to be able to heal was someone to sit by your side and listen.

“Have you heard from your lovely male?”

Atarah smiled slightly. “ _Lovely male_?”

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting the handsome stranger my dearest girl has fallen in love with,” Ana shrugged. “But I hope to, someday.”

“You will,” Atarah murmured. “And – no. I think we both need to deal with some things on our own.”

By now, Oren would have met his father, his siblings.

“Everything happened so quickly,” Atarah whispered, almost to herself, the sound of the waves gently crashing into the shore calming her mind, despite everything.

Ana gently touched her hand. Her scarred hand. It had healed almost fully – but a jagged scar still ran down her palm, wrapping around her thumb. “I have known you ever since you were a little one attempting to dance on your tip-toes. I have watched you grow into a sensible, brave female with her heart in the right place. You would have never hurt anyone if you were not forced to. And, after all, you are still here – a survivor, a warrior. All the pain that it has brought you will remain in broken pieces inside you, but my dear, we cannot try to erase those pieces. Instead, we try to repair them.”

“How?”

“It’s very obvious, isn’t it?” Ana smiled. “With love.”

“Love is what drove Hylas to do terrible things.”

“Ah, love…” Ana said. “… might be a poison. But taken in appropriate doses…”

Atarah smiled, knowing where her maid was going with that conversation.

Before she could speak, however, Ana whispered, “Go write that letter, my dear. I know you’re thinking about it.”

Atarah stared at her, and took a breath. When her eyes turned back to the sea, narrowing, as if she could see all the way to Wendlyn, she made her decision.

***

_Dear Oren,_

_I have a thousand words trapped inside my heart with no way to speak them, so I will attempt to write them._

_My nights have been difficult, and I know, like sensing a storm arriving, that yours have not been easy, either. Perhaps it is the bond between us, shining. Perhaps it is just my sixth sense when it comes to you._

_I cannot begin to understand your confusion and fear, for I have never been in such a place before. But I hope, desperately hope, that your siblings are everything you dreamed they would be. And I hope that, when you see your mother and father again, and the rest of your siblings, that your heart is at ease, and happy._

_I miss you._

_News came from Terrasen a day ago, telling us of Eva’s departure. Her plan to infiltrate Vanserra’s group still stands. She is the coastal city of Adarlan, Meah. We know nothing else._

_I hope this letter finds you well. Difficult times will always find us – that is what I have learned in my two decades on this infinite, strange world. But in those difficult times, we must remember the people who were there to make it all better. I hope I am one of those people for you._

_You are certainly mine._

_I keep you safe inside my chest, wishing for all the time that was stolen from us._

_And to give your beautiful words back to you – When we are reunited, I will see you with flowers. In the meantime, I will dream of a lifetime of flowers with you, my heart._

_Your sweetheart,_

_A._

_***_

At this hour, his sister would be lying awake, preparing herself for what she would have to face, come morning.

Aran Ashryver knew that, if their parents hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop Eva, then Aran would be less likely too.

His twin was too much like him.

Stubborn to the core.

He sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes. He also knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until she returned.

_Damn you, Evie._

_Damn you for being so brave._

And curse him for not being a talented shifter.

If he was, he could have gone with her.

Aran would have gladly put aside his Fae senses for shifting abilities. Any. Day. He would have made that switch any day. 

“ _Come home, Eva,”_ he’d ordered her, before she’d left. “ _You hear me? You come back home.”_

Aran blinked tears away.

In that second, he jumped, for the doors to the parlour opened.

He’d been so distracted he hadn’t heard or smelled a thing.

But – of course. Of course, it was _him_.

“Still angry at me?”

Aran looked away, towards the window, feeling like a stubborn child. But he _was_. He was angry. He was absolutely fucking furious that Alric had encouraged his sister to do this.

Although, a much more sensible part of Aran knew that Eva’s mind couldn’t have been changed by anyone. Not even Ragnar had been able to persuade her. Alric had known it, too – so he hadn’t fought it. He was being rational, after all. 

But still.

It was easy to target his anger.

“Giving me the cold shoulder?” Alric asked, not in a mocking way. In an… _understanding_ sort of way.

“Leave,” Aran said simply.

Alric halted.

Aran stood by the window, leaning against the wall, his back turned to the spy. He saw Alric’s reflection on the window, the way his eyes never left Aran.

“You sister is no fool,” Alric began. “She can do this. Perhaps it would be best to trust her.”

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Alric.”

Bit of an understatement.

Alric sighed, hands in his pockets. Looking at the glass, Aran could see Alric’s fine clothes, his hair a mess of dark curls, and his eyes glinting in the candlelight. Aran refrained from tugging the memories of their last encounter from his mind.

But, of course, refraining from doing so only made him think about it more.

Alric’s lips.

Alric’s voice.

“It’s not me you’re angry at,” Alric said evenly, calmly, leaning against the doorway, a picture of arrogance and calm. “You’re frustrated at yourself because you wanted to be the one to go with your sister. You feel like you’ve let everyone down, because you were born a shifter and can barely change your features. You feel like you have put your sister and your friend in danger. At the same time, you know, deep, deep down, that Eva was right to go, and that she is the best hope to unmask these masked threats. You cannot fight something you do not see, Aran. Vanserra is only one piece of the puzzle. Now, we need your sister to figure out the rest.” A pause. “You are better than what you think you are.”

Aran clenched his jaw, afraid of opening his mouth and saying something that he’d later regret.

Alric continued, undeterred, “No one doubts your bravery or what you are capable of. This is not about what you can or can’t do. This is for the good of all.”

“ _My_ _sister_ was thrown to the wolves for the good of all _,”_ Aran snarled, turning his eyes to Alric. “She matters the most to me.”

Alric narrowed his eyes. “Tigers aren’t afraid of wolves, Prince.”

Aran bristled, and said nothing.

Alric dared to take a step inside the room. “Now, we can speak like mature beings, without you getting your claws in my throat and my blood on these walls.” Alric smiled then. “I know this room needs repainting. Eggshell white is overrated anyway, and red is a much better colour, but I’d appreciate it if you keep me in one piece. And I promise not to keep poking the bear if you just talk to me, alright?” A pause, as he cocked his head to the side. “I can take your sour moods, you know.”

Aran slowly turned to the spy. “Why are you here, Alric?”

“We have a conversation to finish.”

The former Prince shook his head, clicking his tongue. “This is an unlikely time, don’t you think?”

“It’s as good a time as any,” Alric shrugged. “Or perhaps you don’t wish to confront the fact that I kissed you, and that you want me.”

Aran leaned against the wall. Mostly to keep himself from taking the spy’s face into his hand and smacking an angry kiss on those pretty lips. But also, to keep his damned balance and a semblance of casualness.

“You’re doing this to distract me, but I don’t want to be distracted,” Aran muttered. 

“No?” Alric said, taking a step further, one elegant eyebrow raised. Another step. Another.

Aran watched him like a hawk.

“No,” Aran said. “And for your information, I’ve come to terms with wanting you long ago. Way before you ever dared to put your eyes on me, for that matter. If anyone needed to confront any facts about wanting and desire, it was you.”

“Sassy Prince,” Alric smiled.

Aran felt himself relax. Just a little.

“If I kiss you now, will you paint the walls red with my blood?” Alric asked, coming to stand in front of Aran.

“I might,” Aran raised his brows.

“Interesting,” Alric said. “Your eyes shift colour when you’re angry.”

Aran frowned. “Your ability to turn a conversation around is astounding.”

“Feeling up to find out what other abilities I have, Prince?” Alric cooed.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Aran muttered.

Alric’s soft laughter made his heart stutter. “Goodnight, then.”

Neither of them moved.

Alric raised his brows. “Yes?”

Aran snarled, “You’re so fucking insufferable.”

And with that, he touched Alric’s cheeks, pulled him close, and kissed him.

It was a hungry kiss.

His mind turned to smoke as Alric’s hands came to rest at his shoulders, before gently moving down his chest, playing with the buttons of Aran’s tunic, as Aran deepened the kiss. And for all Alric’s teasing and for all his damned arrogance, he melted when Aran kissed him. When he held him.

Aran pulled back to examine Alric’s face. His puffy lips, his heavy-lidded eyes, his flushed cheeks. He smirked, a little cruelty entering his voice, “Is it that easy to break you, Alric?”

The spy looked a little dazed. “Not usually,” he breathed, furrowing his brows.

“Well, then,” Aran said, pulling away. “Goodnight to you.”

Alric stood there, as Aran brushed past him. “I’m going to take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Uh?” Aran said, stopping on the doorway and looking over his shoulder.

Alric worked his jaw as he turned around. “If you agree,” he said, clearly annoyed that he had to repeat himself, “I will take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Aran watched him warily.

Alric’s expression softened just a little. “Moping around is not going to bring your sister home faster.”

Aran still didn’t answer.

“Please?” Alric tried.

Aran’s eyes met Alric’s grey ones. His heart gave a little jump. “Sundown. My chambers. Is that alright for you?”

Alric finally smiled. “Who am I to deny a Prince?”

***

Luna stared at him in dumbfounded confusion.

She had not said a thing in a minute.

Mouth dry, breath stolen, heart dead in his chest, Seren pulled back from her and sat on his bed, feeling as if his soul might have left his body.

He’d told her.

He’d blurted it out.

Just like that.

Luna slowly sat up, staring at nothing.

“Luna,” he breathed. “Please, say something.”

She did not look at him.

Did not even breathe a sound.

Her skin turned pale as ash.

Suddenly, Luna moved out of the bed, and, like a ghost, silently made her way to his balcony, brushing away the curtains and disappearing from view.

Seren sat there, watching the curtains drift this way and that with the night breeze, his chest constricting with panic.

_Follow her_ , his heart begged.

_Wait it out_ , his mind said.

But he was a fool.

And so he followed her.

Luna was facing the city, her back to Seren, her hands poised over the railing, her knuckles impossibly white. She was crying. He’d made her cry.

Luna lowered her head and breathed in, and when that choking sound came, Seren’s heart ripped into a thousand little pieces, crumbling as easy as paper. His instinct was to wrap her up in his arms, kiss her head, and-

When she spoke, Seren flinched at how harsh her voice was. “When did you know?”

Seren could not speak.

Luna snapped her gaze to him, and those eyes-

Those brown eyes had always looked so kind, and warm, and soft. There was no warmth in them now as Luna stared him down. Her body remained close to the railing, as if she was attempting to put as much distance between them as possible.

“ _When_?”

Seren swallowed hard. “The first time I met you, I knew.”

“All this time, you knew?” Luna snarled. “You didn’t bother to tell me?”

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Seren whispered.

“But you did see me,” she spat. She walked to him, so slowly. “You saw me, time and time again. You watched me run around in circles trying to understand why the universe was pulling me towards you, when _you knew_ , Seren.”

“I never meant to trick you.”

She watched him, tears brimming her eyes, shaking her head. “No,” she murmured. “It’s not true.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“No,” she mocked, “but you would hide the truth until it was convenient for you.”

Seren took a step towards her, but Luna moved away, turning her back on him. She wrapped her arms around herself. She sniffed. And in a voice so soft that Seren almost didn’t catch the words, she whispered, “I spent years believing it was him. That it had always been, and would always be him.”

And then Seren knew.

He understood her pain.

Yes, she was angry that he had waited until now to tell her, but it was so much more than that.

Seren had hidden a truth that now changed everything about her past with Leander. As he watched her body become smaller and smaller, curving in on itself, Seren understood. To her, she had already lost a mate.

Luna had believed Leander to be her mate.

And Seren-

Cauldron, he’d made it all worse.

Mating bond or not, it would never change the way that Luna had felt towards her previous lover. But now, it was like another piece of him had been ripped away from her. One piece of knowledge crumpled, burning on the ground.

Seren had wanted to shield her from the pain and instead… he’d hurt her more.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

He’d lost her.

For good.

Luna leaned against the railing again, head in her hands.

So it had not snapped in place for her yet.

What she had felt for Leander must have been greater than anything else in her life, for her to mistake it for a mating bond. Which just proved to Seren, once again, that mating bonds didn’t mean shit.

There was either love, or there wasn’t.

A mating bond didn’t decide that.

“Luna,” he tried again, slowly walking to her, meeting her on that railing. “I made a terrible mistake. I thought I was doing a good thing at first. And then I didn’t know how to tell you without making it seem like… I was being selfish. Now I know that I was being selfish all along by not telling you.”

She didn’t answer him for a long time.

Luna wiped her tears with her sleeve, and let out a shaky breath, before holding her hands to her chest, as if it hurt. And then she told him, sounding so broken, and tired, “You thought you would wait until it snapped for me so you wouldn’t have to explain.”

The way she’d phrased it made it sound absolutely terrible – but that was the truth, wasn’t it?

He _had_ been selfish.

He _had_ hurt her.

And now he had to face it, and not make this about his _own_ pain.

He’d hurt her, damn it.

Seren sworn that would be the last thing he’d do.

“Yes,” he said, head lowering.

“And then what, Seren?” Luna asked, without looking at him. “You’d let me fall in love with you with a truth hidden between us?”

“No-”

“What hurts the most is not that you hid it. I could understand it, if it came from a place of _respect_. And perhaps it did,” she turned to him then. “Perhaps you wanted me to realize it for myself. But what hurts me is that you knew about Leander.” Her voice broke as she said his name, and Seren’s eyes stung, needles poking him relentlessly. “You _knew_ how broken I was. And you knew how hopeless I felt. You could have spared me weeks of wondering, of _guilt_.”

Seren flinched. That last word had felt like a slap.

Guilt because – if Luna had known that there was a mating bond between them… that would count as a reason _outside of herself_ for wanting him. It would ease her conscience because it would feel as if the stars did it.

It would feel as if she hadn’t fallen for him willingly.

By wanting him, she felt like she was betraying Leander.

Seren stepped back, then. “What you feel for me is real, Luna. It’s not the mating bond.”

She turned to the stars, as if she’d curse them all.

“You wanted me before you knew there was a bond between us, you can’t deny me that,” he said, as hurt as she was now. “You loved Leander, but you love _me_ , too.”

She snapped her head to him, her eyes cutting.

But he continued, “You love me, Luna.”

“Don’t-”

He stepped closer. “You love me,” he whispered. “The stars may have brought you to me, but you fell in love with me on your own. And that should not weigh on your conscience, because you, Luna, _you_ deserve _love_. I meant it when I told you this the last time. You deserve more than the pain of losing someone. You deserve to love again.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t tell you, and it was wrong of me. I didn’t think, and I have no excuse for it. I knew from the moment you said _goodbye stranger,_ that I would love you until I died, and there was no going back for me. Because I felt it then, stronger than anything I’ve ever dared to feel in my entire life – I felt it, as you smiled at me, as your eyes met mine. _I felt it_ , Luna. That rope between us.” He dared to step closer, until they were sharing breath. “But I can tell you now, as I look at you, as I hear your heart, that even if the bond had not snapped for me that night, I wouldn’t have been able to push you away from my mind even if I tried. Even if we have never met again, I would have your eyes in the back of my mind, and your voice ringing in my ears, and your smile forever in my memory, because you-” He took a breath, choking on his words. “You captivated me from the first moment that I saw you. I would go back and change it, Luna. I would have told you exactly how I felt when you told me about Leander. I would go back and tell you everything, and whatever choice you made…” he shook his head, “whatever choice you _make_ , it will not change the way I feel. Mating bond or not. The thing that binds us has no impact on how much I love you.”

He paused. “I love you so much it hurts.”

Luna was watching him, her expression unreadable, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let go of.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered. “But I know I did wrong. And that I _did_ hurt you.” Seren lowered his eyes, looking down at his hands. “You don’t need to forgive me, or accept what is between us, but I _am_ sorry.”

He stepped back, giving her space. “And for the record, you should never feel guilty for chasing happiness again. I don’t want to speak for the man that you loved, but if he was truly as kind as you said he was, I bet my life he would wish you to move on. Even if it takes you a century or more. With whoever you want. Leander loved you. He wouldn’t want to see you in pain, Luna.”

There was nothing else to say.

She watched him, with that same cold expression, never giving him anything. Seren understood that. He didn’t deserve much.

But – guilt.

She felt guilty for wanting him.

And that hurt him more than he could admit.

Seren turned away, intending to give her the choice to follow or to go.

But when he opened his wings, standing on the edge of the balcony, he heard Luna call out, “Are you going to fly away from me?”

Seren halted, unable to turn to her and face the frost in her eyes. “Don’t you want me to go?”

Luna took a moment.

A moment too long.

But then she whispered, “No.”

***

Laelia Whitethorn Galathynius was _not_ at the top of her game.

Taking a breath hurt so much she had to lean against the rocks for a moment. Her lungs whistled.

Laelia was fairly positive that lungs weren’t supposed to whistle.

She looked out into the dawn sky and took another slow breath. He didn’t help that she carried Damaris on her back, plus a row of pretty knives at her waist. Her leathers were tight, specially around her thighs, and she knew it was meant to give her a lot more speed, but _damn_.

She. Could. Not. Breathe.

Sometimes, she took a few moments to listen for any kind of danger, but mostly… she climbed. And climbed.

And _climbed_.

As she allowed herself to rest for a moment, the sun already tinting the skies a pearly orange colour, Laelia took out the map Eldon had drawn for her.

It was pure luck that she’d managed to sneak out.

The truth of it all was… Laelia had never done something this reckless. All she had to guide her was all the years she spent watching her older sister sneak out to meet Ferran in the forest. Laelia succeeded because she paid attention.

And she her patience was endless.

Checking her map, Laelia was relieved to find that she was still on the right path. It would take her an hour or so to reach the portal. She remembered Eldon’s words to her:

“ _Remember, only when the sun touches the rocks will the portal open, so that means that you have to come back before sundown.”_

Her parents would never forgive her when they found out.

_You might end this war_ , Laelia told herself. _They’ll understand_.

_Hopefully._

Laelia took a breath, and looked up – to the rocks she still had left to climb. She braced herself.

The only way to go was up.

***

The silence in the room was like a rope slowly wrapping around her throat. The longer he did not speak, the more her heart failed her.

And then, suddenly, Aidan blinked.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry with me,” he whispered, looking impossibly vulnerable, his wings hunching forward.

“Were you not going to tell me?” María asked. “Be honest with me.”

Aidan worked his jaw, and took a step away from her. _Oh_. She looked down at his retreating feet. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like that at all.

A heaviness sat on her chest.

Aidan took a deep breath, and forced himself to meet her eyes. “No.”

There was a pause between them, tense and heavy. Her lips still tingled.

“You were hoping I never found out?” She whispered.

“Yes.”

María hesitated.

Her heart was in little shambles.

She knew, just by looking at him, at his posture, at the way he anxiously closed and opened his hands at his sides, at the way his eyes tried to avoid hers, that this meant a great deal to him – more than she would ever understand.

This was much more than confessing he liked her. This-

This was a whole other level of wanting that María couldn’t quite grasp.

“I can’t begin to understand,” she said, surprising herself at how mellow and soft her voice sounded, “if you don’t try to explain it to me.”

He looked very ashamed.

For what reason… she did not know.

María’s cheeks pinked as a thought occurred to her. “Is it like…” she looked around, shifting on her feet. “Like, a claiming?”

Aidan looked at her, slightly surprised.

“I’ve noticed you’re a little… protective.”

“Ah,” he said lamely. A pause, as she raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. “Yes, it’s like a claiming, but not…”

She eyed him. “Possessive?”

“Some can be,” he said, letting out a breath of a laugh and leaning against the counter. But he was still uneasy. “For me, it just means that… for some reason, the stars thought we were two sides of the same coin.”

“But we’re from different worlds.”

Aidan smiled slightly. Crookedly. “Tell me about it.” He sighed. “I understand it as much as you do.”

“Where does that put us, exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” Aidan said, smile failing him. He looked at her briefly, before looking down at his feet, which he crossed one over the other. “The bond can mean nothing, María. It will mean what we want it to mean. Whether that’s a friendship, or something more…”

“In the human world, it’s not customary to go around kissing people you want to be friends with.” She shrugged. “Just fyi.”

“Fyi?”

“For your information,” she smiled slightly.

“Ah,” he murmured, not getting it. Different language, and everything. He smiled, though. “Good. I mean, that would be a bit of a heartbreak if you kissed your friends and all.”

“Really?” She murmured.

Aidan held her gaze for a moment. “Surely, you must know how I feel for you by now.”

The words were like little electrical shocks running through her veins. Her cheeks heated, and she felt herself begin to sweat. “Hum,” she said, noncommittally.

His smile widened at her shyness, before he said, “Like I told you before, the mating bond doesn’t mean much. It just means that… we are a match.”

“A match,” she repeated softly. “Like soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” He cocked his head to the side.

“It’s what we call our perfect person,” María mused. “Some believe we might find the one person in the world whose soul is the same as ours. Considering this logic, it’s not that different from what you’re telling me.”

Aidan watched her carefully. He said, “You’re taking this much better than I anticipated.”

She frowned. “Well, thanks for that.”

“No, I mean-” He cringed. “That came out totally wrong.”

She smiled, though. “The day you stop underestimating me will be the day you understand it takes more than this to break me. I’m not a porcelain doll.”

Aidan let out a breath. “You’re right. I should trust you on that.”

She let out a sigh. “So.”

“So.”

“If I tell you I want nothing else, it won’t… be damaging to you?”

Aidan swallowed hard, but said, “No.”

María picked a wild card. “What happens if I say I do want you?”

Aidan bit the inside of his cheek. “I still don’t have any claim on you, María.”

“Not even then?”

“No,” he breathed. “Of course not.”

“But you said…”

“Older generations have old morals,” Aidan said, frowning slightly. “That level of claiming sounds too much like ownership, and it doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t hide her relief. Not that she ever took him for that sort.

But who knew the way of the Fae?

Certainly not her.

“Back at the beach, when you saved me, and I asked you to tell me everything…” María began, chewing on her lip. “You told me your mother was human, also. But… she is no longer a human. Is she?”

Aidan paused. “My mother and father met when she was still human, yes. In our world, humans and Fae live amongst each other, though the humans prefer to stay beyond the wall. It’s a long story, but my mother, she…” Aidan looked down. “She died. Briefly.”

María widened her eyes, but before she could say anything, Aidan continued, “To save her, each of the High Lords of Prythian, including my father, gave my mother a kernel of their power. They brought her back.”

“They turned her Fae,” María whispered.

“It was the only way to save her,” Aidan murmured, as if he had to defend such a decision.

Which made her wonder…

“Am I the first human to fall- I mean to, hum…”

“You mean, has any other human crossed the worlds in search of a Fae they liked?”

María shrugged, a little flushed.

“We cannot be the first ones,” Aidan said. “There are Fae in your world. Hidden, certainly. But they exist. They must have taken human lovers.”

“Do Fae take human lovers here?”

“Not usually,” he said. “But there are stories like that.”

So-

Not totally abnormal.

“Your bodies still work like humans’,” María said to him. “You look human to me. Even now. You know, wings and pointy ears and all that pushed to the side. To me, you’re human with a bunch of freakishly cool abilities. It wouldn’t surprise me if Fae took human lovers and vice-versa.”

He laughed outright then.

“I have never been described as _freakishly cool_ ,” Aidan murmured to her, laughter still present in his voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though.”

She smiled, contaminated by his laughter. “It was a compliment.”

Aidan paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“We’re not very normal, and we were never supposed to happen, so I can’t really blame you,” María shrugged. “If I were in your shoes, maybe I wouldn’t have said anything, either. I honestly don’t know what I’d do. But thank you for being honest.”

“Freaking out, much?” 

“Only a little,” she said. “Not as much as I expected to, though. I guess I underestimated myself, too.”

Aidan folded his wings tightly on his back, smiling slightly. He looked relieved, and… dare she say, happy.

The feeling was mutual.

He’d silenced the little nagging voice inside her mind, at least.

María cleared her throat. “I should, hum… sleep.”

“Yes,” he said softly.

_I should move,_ she thought vaguely.

But then Aidan was walking toward her, and he was wrapping his arms around her in the sweetest way, touching her cheek, and saying, “I meant what I said.”

She resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean against his touch. “You said lots of things,” she breathed. “Remind me.”

Aidan smiled, “The bond is what we want it to be.”

There was something sad about his tone, which reminded her- 

By morning, she would be gone.

Certainly, she couldn’t keep this going, right?

Right?

Aidan seemed to know it, too, for his hand dropped from her cheek. “Goodnight,” he said.

He slowly untangled himself from her, and began to turn away.

“You’ll sleep here?” She said, her voice quiet.

“There are seven bedrooms upstairs,” Aidan said, just as quietly. “I’ll take one.”

Why did she feel so… uneasy?

Like she’d left things to be said?

She wouldn’t deal well with it, María knew – parting with him, now that she knew the whole truth.

María watched him move towards the balcony, instead of the stairs. “Sleep deprived?”

Aidan shot her a smile over his shoulder, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about me.”

And then he was out of her sight.

***

Once in her room, María looked at her phone, and didn’t find it surprising when it gave her no signal. She sighed. She’d given her mother the excuse of going on a road trip to a camping sight with her friend, so she wouldn’t take María’s lack of news as a sign of her being in danger. At least it was one less thing to worry about.

María made her way to her own balcony. It faced the gardens, and, María noticed, the balcony below, where she’d seen Aidan last.

She tried not to think about the candles that had lit themselves in her chamber as she made her way to the railing, breathing in the night air.

A staircase of a hundred thousand steps or more stood to her right – and that’s where he was, right at the top. María almost took a step back at the sight.

Aidan was a little hidden from view. But not so much that she couldn’t see his bare chest glinting in the moonlight.

There was a sword in his hand.

Like, a real sword.

Not a prop, she reminded herself. Not a costume.

A real, dangerous, pointy, deadly sword.

And he wielded it beautifully.

Cutting through the air in familiar moves and stances, his posture admirable, his eyes focused on nothing. From here, she could see sweat gathering in his forehead. If Aidan noticed that she was there, he gave her no signs.

But she reckoned there was a lot on his mind.

When he turned, however, her eyes narrowed.

The entire front of his chest was covered with tattoos. Symbols and swirls and stars and letters she couldn’t decipher. They began below his belly-button, and rose like ivy against a wall, only to curve towards his arms when they reached his collarbones. They were beautiful and intricate and-

He looked up at her.

María closed her mouth.

He waved at her once, smiling up at her.

Her heart, inexplicably, fluttered.

She waved back, watched him for a second longer, then turned towards her chambers.

María sat on the bed, feeling conflicted.

She was stupidly infatuated with Aidan.

So-

What now?

***

Seren slowly turned to see Luna much, much nearer.

There was still a crease between her brows, but-

But he hadn’t lost her.

Not yet, anyway.

Before he could muster another word, Luna raised a hand.

And placed it right over his heart.

She felt it, how irregular it became when she touched him, how _alive_ it became, with quiet wonderment in her eyes. The only sounds were their breathing.

Seren lowered his head, eyes fluttering closed in relief-

Relief that she was still here.

“It hasn’t snapped in place for me because I was…” she whispered, her voice uneven, “… because I did not allow it to.”

Seren raised his eyes to meet hers. Luna’s were fixed on his chest.

She closed her eyes.

Took a step forward.

And her cheek rested on the place her hand had once been. Right above his heart.

Seren could cry.

Specially as she whispered to him, to his aching heart, “Please be patient with me.”

Seren wrapped his arms around her, so gentle and careful, his wings following suit. He kissed the top of her head, and said to her, “Always.”

Luna looked up at him.

And in that second, it didn’t matter – not the world, or anything that might come.

She was everything.

Seren leaned in before she could, meeting her lips.

Luna let out a little sound against him, like relief, and her hands slid upwards to touch his cheeks. That kiss obliterated him. And remade him. A cycle that would never, could never stop. Instinctively, he deepened the kiss, and Luna’s body curved underneath his, her chest flush against his, her heartbeat against his.

She broke the kiss first with a little broken sigh falling from her lips. Her thumbs traced the apples of his cheeks, his jaw, his bottom lip.

“And those words,” she breathed, “were mine to say. Don’t ever steal them from me again.”

_You love me, Luna._

Seren swallowed hard, but Luna pulled him down for another kiss.

And another.

And another.

…

And another.

***

In the morning, María found brand new clothes on the chair near her door. She looked at them as if they’d bite her.

She knew for a fact that Aidan would not dare to step foot inside her room. He had to use magic to make them appear. Would they vanish at her touch, she wondered? Would magic be repelled by her?

It was so early, that night still embraced the skies. She sat there for a few minutes, looking out her balcony, watching the city wake up. She was leaving.

_I’m really leaving._

Dressing herself proved to be a hard task. She was still sore, all over, not to mention her sleep hadn’t been the best. Aidan had plagued her dreams the entire night. At a certain point, dream him had begged her to say.

At a certain point, dream her had said yes.

When she went downstairs, backpack on her shoulders, Aidan was already waiting on the balcony, his hair messy, his eyes puffy. He wore brighter clothes today – a blue tunic that, despite being dark, was much more colourful than black, and matching trousers. So casual, and still looking like a Prince.

It took her breath away for a moment.

She went to meet him, and he gave her a smile that was too casual to be 100% real.

“Slept well?”

“Absolutely not,” María said. “How was _your_ sleep?”

“Fucking atrocious.” He shot her a grin. “I’m not a morning person, either, by the way.”

She watched him. She didn’t bother telling him that mornings usually didn’t bother her, but mornings where she had to say goodbye to her potential soulmate did suck a little.

Instead, María said, “Aidan…”

And said nothing else.

_Coward_. That voice returned.

Aidan smiled sympathetically. His eyes were sad. “We don’t have to speak of it.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “No.”

But there was so much to speak about.

Wasn’t there?

Perhaps it would just… make it all so much worse.

Sparing her the effort of responding, Aidan said, “We can take the stairs, but it will take a few hours.”

“I noticed the steps,” she said, then gave his wings a wary glance. 

“Don’t you trust me?” He said, trying to put some humour in his voice.

“Yes,” she said, and then cringed inwardly. That had come out _way_ too fast.

“You’ve already done it once,” Aidan teased. “You seemed to like it.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

And before she could calm herself down, he was already picking her up. She felt warm, all over, instantly, but refused to think on it too much. Aidan spread his wings, and María’s stomach dropped. They hadn’t moved an inch.

“Ready?”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “Never.”

And then they took to the skies.

***

Eva and Ragnar were no longer their names.

The female whose face she wore was named Willa, and her caramel eyes and hair were not immediately remarkable. But Ragnar, who was now Uriah, with his pale face and distinctive lilac eyes, stood out in the crowd. So much so that many of the townspeople stopped and stared, dazzling at him.

Eva tried not to sneer, or put a protective hand around his waist. There were important matters at hand, after all.

But – Goddess above, did he really have to dazzle people in any form?

As they walked through town on that misty morning, sea air drizzling above them, it took most of her concentration to keep their masks on, but Eva could still see a shadow moving from time to time. Spies surrounding them.

Eva would never tell Ragnar the deal she’d made with Alric and his spies.

“ _If anything happens, you protect him first. You will leave me if saving my life costs his.”_

They’d sworn their loyalty, and vowed to do so, so Eva truly didn’t have to think about something going wrong and Ragnar getting hurt. No matter what happened, he would be safe.

He had to remain safe.

Alric had protested, but Eva had heard none of it. 

As they walked, Ragnar took her hand.

He squeezed. 

A reassurance.

She squeezed back, without hesitation.

It was time.

***

Eva had expected a house or, worse, a dark alleyway.

But it was a dirty old tavern, with dusty seashells that had long lost their shine adorning the wooden shelves. Sailors sat on the stools, rumbling loudly over pints of beer and other questionable drinks, while the patrons watched with tired faces, their multitasking hands never stopping. It was so busy, that Eva briefly wondered if they had the right place, after all.

But she knew she’d made no mistake.

No one paid them any mind.

Ragnar was the picture of calmness as they walked through.

Eva looked around at everyone’s faces, her head already hurting for concentrating too hard on keeping up appearances. She forced her body to cooperate, determined not to let Ragnar see how much this was costing her. She wondered how many people in this tavern wished her dead.

Vanserra was nowhere to be seen.

_The male has different names, different personas. He needs no mask,_ Eva thought. _Where are you, you piece of shit?_

Suddenly, a _tssssk_ sound made them turn their heads to the maid behind the bar.

She wasn’t looking at them, seemingly focused on wiping down a glass that clearly hadn’t been washed properly with an even dirtier rag. Without looking up, she muttered to them, “Out back.”

And gestured with her head to the door behind the bar.

Ragnar and Eva stared at one another.

Without hesitation, they moved past employees and customers. Eva stood in front of that wooden door, staring at the chips and the cracks, taking a deep breath, and making sure that their masks were in place.

_Focus, Eva,_ she reminded herself. _Focus._

_And be brave._

She weighed all her advantages:

Vanserra still didn’t know two of his comrades had been kidnapped and forced to tell him everything there was to know about this meeting.

She would keep their masks on, even if her body gave out.

Ragnar was safe. The shadows were outside, waiting for Eva’s signal.

The goal was to come in, get the information she needed about how many people were working for Vanserra, call in the spies, wreak havoc, arrest them all.

She doubted she would be able to bring an alive Vanserra to the Queen, but she would surely try.

She knocked twice. Waited.

An unfamiliar face greeted her. “Fucking hell, Willa. Come in, fuck’s sake.”

The male pushed them inside and then turned his nose. “You smell strange.”

_Speak_ , she commanded herself. “Could never smell worse than you even if I bathed in mud, you fucker.”

Ragnar went very still.

And then the male smirked at her. “Missed that mouth.”

Ragnar tensed.

Eva dared to face everyone around the room. Her palms began to sweat as she counted, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen… twenty people were sitting or pacing around the room, and no Vanserra. They were waiting for him.

Uriah had not seemed like a male who liked to converse much, so it was all good and dandy that Ragnar was currently standing there with his mouth firmly shut. As for the male next to her, he kept speaking, much for Eva’s dismay. “Seriously, though. Where you been?”

“Fucking your mother.”

A female close to her gave a snarky laugh at that.

Eva thought she was getting the hang of this. So she kept winging it.

Her first, very vague impressions of Willa seemed to be accurate.

“Where is he, anyway?” Eva asked, mimicking Willa’s voice almost perfectly. Right now, it sounded like Willa had a cold. But no matter. The male did not seem to have much of a brain on him anyway.

He knew she was speaking of Vanserra. “How should I know? Hey, did you hear about Hylas?”

“Yeah. Tough.” 

“Tough?” The male frowned. “Fuckin’ brutal, more like.” He looked Adarlanian. Fair skin, dark eyes, dark hair. A fucking dumb look on his face. Eva had doubted there were many Fae in Adarlan. She’d been very wrong. “D’you know who did it?”

“No clue,” Eva said, getting sick of the conversation. “Don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Maybe he was asking for it,” Eva said. “Hylas was not a smart male.”

She felt Ragnar tense again beside her, and that was her warning. She was pushing it.

Alas.

“Still,” the male said, shrugging. Something in Eva’s – Willa’s – face must have put him off, for he dispersed, and went to bother someone else. With as much nonchalance as she could muster, she sat at the end of the room, close to the door, Ragnar beside her.

Neither Willa nor Uriah seemed to have much of a role in the group, which made them very invisible. Good.

It must have passed five or so minutes, when the door creaked open.

Vanserra looked absolutely different.

Still disgustingly handsome, but his hair was now cut close to his scalp, and he wore expensive fabrics of dark red and burgundy. He presented himself like a king. When he closed the door, twenty people stood.

Eva and Ragnar stood just as quickly.

Vanserra smiled at them all, like a father greeting his family.

Some people leaned against the walls, some sat back down, but all of them watched him like he was a God.

The sheer arrogance with which he carried himself made Eva’s stomach turn. The last time she’d seen him, her mate had almost been killed. He’d sent one of his pawns to end Ragnar’s life.

_One breath in, one breath out._

When he spoke, Vanserra stood at the other end of the dimly-lit room. There were no windows in sight. But no matter. Her sign to Alric’s shadows was not visual, anyway.

“My brothers and sisters,” he said, his voice booming. “I must receive you with terrible news. For those who have not yet heard, our brother Hylas has perished.”

Some people looked at each other in shock.

Eva did not dare to blink. _Do not lose focus._

“All of you know the Lady of Suria was in our possession, along with a boy from Doranelle, as our hostages. Unfortunately, they killed our brother.”

“Traitors,” the same female that had laughed at Eva’s remark spat.

Nods of agreement sounded.

“Indeed,” Vanserra said, lowering his head, as if he might be mourning. “Purebloods killing other purebloods.” He shook his head, and clicked his tongue. _What a pity_ , he seemed to say. _What a waste._

“Will we retaliate?” Another male asked.

“Why, of course,” Vanserra smiled, delighted to be asked such a thing. “The Lady of Suria will not get away with our brother’s death. She is a traitor to her pureblood brothers and sisters.”

Eva’s heart clenched. _Atarah_.

“And that boy?” The male barked.

“Will be found in due time,” Vanserra assured them. “But what I have to say to you today, my brothers, my sisters, is far more important.”

Eva braced herself.

“We are very few,” Vanserra murmured. “Our faith is slowly dying out, my friends. Those of us who stand in this very room are the revolutionaries, fighting against a blight on these lands that is the Queen of Terrasen. And the blight keeps spreading. Her roots keep growing. We must remind ourselves everyday, my friends, that she, too, is the product of a human mating with a pureblood Fae.” He sighed. “And so, all her line is ruined. I suggest we take another route.”

“Wasn’t the plan to aim for the shifters?” One female asked. “Aren’t they worse?”

“Of course they are, my dear,” Viktor said. “But we can and will eliminate any threat to our Nature. Whether that may be the shifters or the half-breeds, well…” He smiled. “Pick and choose your target.”

“What’s the plan, then?” The male who’d spoke to Eva asked.

“My friends, we will not aim to just kill the Princess Shifter. We have to eliminate her roots.”

“Kill the Queen? The Princes?” Another female said. “But… who will stand in their place?”

That was the wrong question to ask.

“Who has the right morals to turn this land into a better one, Geena?”

Geena cowered. “You?”

“That’s right,” Vanserra smiled kindly. “With your help, we can return this land to its former glory. To a land where shifters did not roam, where half-breeds were not allowed to breathe five minutes after being born.”

Silence.

“Do you doubt me, friends?” Vanserra asked.

The threat was clear.

No one dared to move.

_Why are they so afraid of him?_ She wondered. _They could all easily kill him._

Ragnar stared at Eva. The rest saw Uriah staring at his mate. But Eva saw much more: she saw true worry in his eyes. And that same question in his mind.

“Let me remind you, then, of the _wrongness_ ,” Vanserra said. “Half-breeds who take your powers and your right to live, who are stronger than you even though they are less. How does that make you feel?”

Silence again. But Eva could feel the anger.

Vanserra smiled at each and every single one of them.

Triumph. That was triumph in his eyes.

And then his eyes stopped on Eva. On Willa.

He smiled a little wider.

A cold shiver ran through Eva, but she met his eyes, her face as relaxed as possible. His eyes turned away, and she almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“Or the shifters,” he said. “Let me remind you what the world was like centuries ago, my friends. Murderers, robbers. Those who live behind a mask are not worthy of our trust, nor of the air we breathe.” From his front pocket, Vanserra took out a little mirror – gold and shiny, intricate and mysterious.

The sight of it repelled her.

He placed the mirror on the table, and Eva almost wished she could balk away and never look at it again. She sensed Ragnar watching her from the corner of his eye. Her heart rate picked up.

She was going to throw up.

_Calm yourself_ , she told her buttons, trying to be rational. Her panic was unreasonable. _Focus. Focus._

The mirror faced each one. “Look at yourselves. Your face. Your soul, displayed for all to see.” Vanserra smiled. “But shifters, my brothers, my sisters… they show you nothing but _lies_.” He turned the mirror to _her_.

What she saw was not Willa’s reflection. 

But her own.

Eva saw it, Ragnar saw it, every person in that room saw it.

Vanserra smiled at her, his teeth sharp. “Hello, Your Highness.”


	24. Chapter 24

Luna woke up with a slight pressure inside her chest.

It was like a thousand bricks pushing her down, down, down, cutting off her breath. In that millisecond, Luna imagined claws ripping into her chest with the intent to kill her during her sleep.

She jolted slightly, eyes fluttering open.

Sweat gathered on her forehead as Luna’s head snapped from side to side, to the unfamiliar curtains billowing in the morning breeze, to the high ceilings, and then – to the person lying right over her.

Her heart slowed as she took him in, sound asleep between her legs, his arms and wings splayed on either side of her, his head resting right over her collarbones, his dark, midnight hair brushing her throat.

Her mate’s scent was enough to calm her. Luna took a steadying breath. Seren was here. She was still in Prythian. The curtains were not unfamiliar at all, and she had not been killed nor taken. She was in his home. Safe. Waking up in the morning after having accidentally falling asleep. That pressure on her chest had just been Seren, in her arms. _You’re fine._

Through the curtains leading to the balcony, Luna watched the blue skies and golden daylight with a crease between her brows. At this time, Eva and Ragnar had already left for Meah. The next day, they would face Vanserra.

_Worrying is not going to bring them back faster, my love_ , Vaughan had told her yesterday, right before Fenrys had walked into her room.

She knew it to be true, but the ache in her heart did not cease.

After all, telling your mind not to worry is like telling a cloud not to release the rain. It will just do whatever it is bound to do.

Luna turned her attention to her snoring mate again.

_Mate_.

She had almost disintegrated at hearing the word the night before. As Seren had spoken the word, a little light had shined inside her mind, a small voice whispering, _This is what Leander had been trying to tell you. Look to the stars, Luna, remember?_

Luna frowned at herself. _You could have been a little more specific, Leander._

She remembered his laughter all too well. Soft, and hoarse, and a little mischievous. She was sure he would be laughing at her now.

Sighing softly, Luna ran a hand through Seren’s hair, so tentatively. So carefully, so as not to wake him. He slept like the dead. Even now, as she combed her fingers through his thick hair, he did not even stir, nor did his breathing change. He looked so peaceful.

And happy.

He smiled in his sleep.

This little discovery made her heart swoon, as it often did when it came to Seren.

But overnight, his weight had turned Luna’s legs into jelly. They lay at his side absolutely numb, and it felt like little ants crawled up and down underneath her skin. He was cutting off her blood flow, but Luna was so unwilling to move – even then.

She barely remembered falling asleep. Vague memories of them talking in hushed voices, even if they were the only people there, memories of his arms around her, her head resting against his shoulder, his gentle laughter rumbling through her…

_Mate. Mate. Mate._

_I love you, Luna._

_I love you so much it hurts._

“Seren,” she whispered, so low. “Are you awake?”

Nothing.

Just light snoring.

His wings fluttered from time to time, like he was dreaming.

Slowly, Luna managed to slip from underneath him, and cringed as blood finally managed to travel to her legs. Her dress was crumpled, her hair an absolute disaster, and she was still slightly dazed from her abrupt awakening, but Luna had never felt so well rested.

She turned to look at him, face down onto the mattress, wings so still.

She’d never watched those wings so close. There was an itch to run her fingers through the purply veins, and trace the faint scars near his talons, to kiss that underside, but Luna kept her hands to herself.

_You captivated me from the first moment that I saw you._

_You should never feel guilty for chasing happiness._

His words rang true.

And as she stared at his sleeping form, they hit home.

She _had_ been avoiding happiness for a long time. That was why she kept wanting to run away from Seren, because facing the fact that she’d wanted him from the very beginning was like diving into ice cold waters. Luna guessed that, as the years went by, she’d wrapped herself around a cocoon of sadness, and it was easy to stay there with all the memories that had once been full of brightness, and were now terribly bittersweet, with the regrets and the what-ifs, and telling herself, repeatedly, _I wish I had had more time._ It had been so easy, that it had become her whole life, that sadness. Every smile she managed, every word, every laugh, every move… it always had sadness as a shadow, and it always crept closer.

Seren gave her time to grow and spread her wings.

He did not rip that cocoon open. Seren had simply extended a hand, and given her the choice to leave a cage of her own making.

And now that she was out of that cage… Luna had barely noticed when it had opened, allowing her to see blue skies again, but what mattered is that it was open now. And she wanted to take flight.

With him.

Breathing in, Luna turned away, a slight smile on her face as she remembered all the gentle whisperings, the kisses, the touches, the confessions of the night before.

The bath chamber adjacent to his room smelled of lavender soaps and of him. Luna smiled wider as she remembered accidentally teleporting herself into his tub – _while he was in it._

A soft laugh came free from her mouth. Easy. Real.

Luna paused.

Turned to look at her sleeping mate over her shoulder.

First, she would have to boil some water.

***

“Open your eyes.”

“I can’t.”

“Seriously,” he whispered, and she wasn’t really sure how she managed to hear him speaking so softly against the harsh wind. “You have to see this.”

Between cursing herself for agreeing to fly, and dreading the sinking feeling at the bottom of her tummy when Aidan made a turn, María managed to grasp whatever bravery she had left, and opened one eye, before opening both.

“Don’t look down,” Aidan smiled. “Look at me.”

They were still so, so high. But… after a moment or so, she did not feel so exposed to the world. His arms were steady and warm and strong, and her mind tricked her into thinking she was perfectly safe.

Perhaps she was.

She turned her face towards him. The wind pushed his hair back, exposing those enchanting eyes of his, as blue as the morning skies. He looked at her, too, smiling, almost in triumph, and… oddly, there was a little smugness, too. “How do you feel?”

María considered this as she felt incapable to tear her eyes away from him. “Better.”

His smile widened. “Good.” He only looked in front of him once more, before turning his eyes to her again. María had the strange thought that he would be a reckless driver. “Now, look around you. Not below you. Watch.”

Her eyes stayed firmly planted on his face. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

A pause.

Slowly, she dared to look around.

The altitude made her heart jump inside her chest, but-

Her awe surpassed any fear she had in that very moment.

They were flying over the city, tiny little lights slowly disappearing as the sun rose higher and higher in the baby blue skies. Cotton candy clouds, white as marble, fluttered past them, and for that second, the cold did not bother her, and her fear of heights was forgotten. The mountains stood high and proud over and around them, and María noticed that Velaris was embraced by them – like a fortress all around the city. As they flew out of the city and into forests of dark green, María dared to look down. Just once.

They were soaring past pine trees rising way above the clouds. Aidan took them slightly higher, and María marvelled at the rivers of vibrant blue leading to a vast ocean in the distance. She had never seen a forest from above, only by plane, but she had been too far away to truly see the details. Birds fluttered past them with their white-grey wings and squeaks, and María braced herself for impact, burying her face on Aidan’s chest.

But the birds parted to let Aidan through, before joining their group, and flying south. María peeked her head over his shoulder to see them become little dots in the distance.

“Still frightened?” He murmured to her.

María pulled her head back slightly, surprised to feel his breath on her cheek, and his lips to close. She managed to say, “Only a little.”

He grinned again. “Everything that is worth living is a little frightening.”

She watched him, wondering if what she felt for him might shatter her heart into a million pieces.

Aidan said nothing else as they slowly descended upon the mountains, only minutes later.

María’s stomach turned slightly as Aidan placed her down into the familiar mountain. The last time she’d been here-

She refrained from thinking about it too much.

Although part of her wished to ask what had happened to the male who’d almost killed her, most of her mind rejected the notion. She shouldn’t care. And she had a feeling Aidan was thinking about it too, and containing himself not to end the male’s life himself. She didn’t need to add any more wood to the fire.

The portal was right there.

The sunlight touched it at the bottom, and it rose as the sun began to peek through the mountain range. As she looked at it, María bitterly thought of an hourglass, sand drifting down to that terrible bottom. But now, it was the sunlight taunting her as it rose higher and higher with each second that passed. Time was going too fast. The sand was almost gone.

She turned to Aidan.

His eyes followed the line of the sun, too.

Then turned to her.

He was no longer smiling, and she guessed she didn’t look too happy either. _What now, what now, what now?_

Would she be able to say goodbye to him for a final time?

_You have to._

She’d already said goodbye too any times.

_But you have to._

_We don’t have to talk about it,_ he’d said the night before. But that felt as definite as a goodbye. Could she really go back and forget all this happened? Live a normal life, pretend Aidan away as if he’d been nothing but a cruel little happy dream during a feverish night?

“Will you give my thanks to your uncle, for me?” María whispered. “I never got to.”

“Of course,” Aidan said. “María, I’m so-”

“Don’t apologize again,” she said to him. “ _I_ came here. It was _my_ own fault.”

“You wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for me.”

“You think very highly of yourself,” she said, raising a brow. “Perhaps I just came to try the food. Did that occur to you?”

And, despite everything, Aidan’s smile reappeared, then grew, as he took the bait of her attempt at humour. He breathed a laugh, and shook his head at how preposterous that sounded, and María could only see his smile, so bright and handsome, so soft, and nothing else.

This was the real Aidan.

Not the nightmare she had imagined in the back of her mind, not the monster her dreams suggested. But the male who would still reserve a smile just for her, no matter how bad things got.

“Aidan,” she murmured.

“Yes?” He smiled.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I did nothing,” he said.

“You did a lot for me.” And before he could protest, she told him, “You can’t win with me on this one. You just can’t. Like, you’ll argue, and I’ll argue back, and we’ll just be sitting here for the rest of the day, _arguing_.” 

Aidan’s eyes searched her own, a sad, crooked smile on his lips. “Having you for another day might be worth losing an argument.”

She swallowed hard. “I have to go.”

“I know,” he said back, lowering his eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Part of me wants to stay,” she blurted out.

And immediately cursed herself.

_You were not supposed to admit that_.

Aidan’s eyes snapped back to her, flashing in surprise.

“I do,” she continued, because he blinked at her, as if he was confused. She ignored that warning voice in the back of her mind as much as she could. “You know I do, right?”

“But why?”

María blinked once.

“All that this place brought you was danger,” Aidan said.

She stared at him for a moment, considering her answer. It wasn’t going to help things, but it was the truth.

“But it also brought me you.”

Something in Aidan’s chest cracked open – she knew it by the way his eyes softened, the crease between his brows disappearing.

“I’m not worth it,” he whispered.

“You are to me,” she said. And then breathed in, as tears began prickling her eyes. “No arguing with me, remember?” 

Aidan took a step further.

And another.

And another.

He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body.

Her mind went silent as one of his arms wrapped around her back. His other hand touched her cheek. He leaned down, and said, “This is for if our paths ever cross again.”

And then he kissed her.

It was nothing like the kiss she’d given him the night before. That kiss had been as tentative as a little bird trying to take flight for the first time. But this kiss was like standing on the shore, waiting for a wave to dive into, only to watch that wave grow, and grow, and grow, until your heart is drumming with both fear and adrenaline, and you have to take a moment to decide whether you step back, take the dive, or get swallowed up by the raging sea.

María rose up on her tiptoes, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and the hand that had been on her cheek lowered to wrap around her waist. When she had to pull away to breathe, her heart felt like it might truly be breaking her ribcage. Aidan took a sudden breath, but he stayed near, his nose brushing hers, his brow against hers.

“ _Whenever_.”

Aidan opened his eyes, blinking down at her. “What?” He breathed.

María looked at him, too, realizing she’d made that decision the night before, when they’d first kissed, but hadn’t been brave enough to face it. But if her heart could withstand flying, it could – and _would_ , damn it – withstand this. “ _Whenever_ our paths cross again,” she whispered.

It slowly registered what she meant. Aidan began to smile, his eyes sparkling, his hands drifting up her arms in gentle caresses to rest on her cheeks. He leaned in to kiss her again, but before their lips touched, María was yanked back with so much strength she almost lost her balance, and before her mind even managed to register it, Aidan was pulling her behind him, a snarl falling from his mouth.

She didn’t know what was happening.

But she could see his teeth gleaming from over his shoulder, sharp and dangerous. With a shudder, she moved closer to him, trying to peek over his shoulder-

The stones were glowing.

The portal was being opened.

Someone was coming.

***

Aidan should have thought about frightening her.

He should have measured his movements, kept that sound to himself. But as he felt, rather than heard, or smelled, the intruder, his only instinct was to protect her, so Aidan moved before he could think twice about it.

“Aidan,” she murmured behind him.

“Stay back.”

His hand was wrapped around tightly around her wrist, her other hand touching his spine lightly. Aidan’s wings fluttered as he stepped back with her, the stones glowing in the sunlight, until-

He saw golden hair first.

A sword next.

His wings shielded María.

And then Aidan braced himself for attack.

A female’s face came into view, green eyes blinking into the morning light. She dragged her sword on the ground, as if she could barely keep her hold on the hilt. And then her eyes turned to Aidan.

He hesitated, teeth barred.

María held her breath.

The female narrowed her eyes at him, but did not lift her sword. She was small in stature, young, her pointy features facing him with dazed confusion and slight curiosity.

After that tense moment, she spoke, her melodic voice surprisingly calm, not menacing at all. “Seren…?”

Aidan straightened. “That’s my brother.”

The female blinked.

And then she _smiled_?

Aidan pulled his mate closer. “Who are you?”

That strange pronunciation again, as she mused, “Oh, Luna was right. You do speak really weird.” Her smile widened, as she sheathed her sword. “No offense. Eldon did say the sounds of our language _did_ evolve over time, but were not so different that we would not comprehend each o-”

“Who are you?” Aidan insisted, a little agitated. “How do you know Luna? Or my brother?”

The female turned up her nose. Not used to being interrupted, he supposed. And looking at her again… those leathers, the very air around her… royalty? “Luna is like my cousin. We’re family.” A pause. “And it’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Seren’s brother. My name is Laelia.” She grinned. “Princess of Terrasen.”

***

Luna finished pouring the hot water into the enormous tub, and still, her mate had barely moved. Purposefully, the door of the bathing chamber was left open. Heart hammering inside her chest, Luna slowly undid the laces on the back of her bodice, letting her dress fall on the floor.

She dipped her toe onto the water, and turned to look at him over her shoulder again, as she noticed the pattern of his breathing changing. Slowly becoming restless, her mate. From here, she had a clear view of him.

Smiling to herself, Luna slowly sank into the water.

It was only moments later that Seren breathed out a sigh, and Luna watched from the tub as he stretched out a hand – looking for her. But when he found his bed empty, his eyes opened, his head slowly rising. And then-

Seren turned on the bed, watching her.

His morning face was truly a sight to be seen. Puffy eyes and red lips, flushed cheeks and messy dark curls falling over his brows. He blinked, and Luna heard the way his heart skipped a beat again, and again, and again.

Her cheeks flushed, and not because of the hot water.

Luna braced herself on the edge of the tub, and said, “I prepared you a bath.” She hoped he heard the invitation in her voice, and that he understood that he could make the choice to say no.

Seren parted his lips, and watched her for a couple of seconds more, probably trying to figure out whether or not he was still dreaming.

Luna attempted a smile, but it came out shy.

Now that he was moving off the mattress and walking toward her, his sheer height and the size of his wings always taking her by surprise, her courage deflated slightly. Before Seren, there had been Leander, and before Leander… no one. Now, as Seren came into the bathing chamber, his eyes becoming dark and tender, more awake, she wondered whether she would be able to keep her inexperience at bay. At least enough to let him know what she wanted.

Once in front of her, Seren kneeled down, smiling crookedly. “Hello, love,” he kissed the tip of her nose, and Luna relaxed. The steam of the water curled her hair at her temples, and Seren gently wrapped a finger around a curl. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t miss the soft teasing in those words.

He was going to make her say it.

Her cheeks heated. “Do you want to join me?”

“For a bath?”

She nodded, swallowing hard.

Seren’s eyes softened with understanding. It wouldn’t take a genius to know that she needed a little guiding from that point on, and Seren seemed all too willing to do so.

He kissed her lips once, and without another word, he rose to his full height. Luna watched him, her heart jumping as Seren removed the rest of his clothes.

Scooting over, she waited for him to sink into the water, and grabbed a nearby bath sponge, mainly to distract herself from the sound of her – and his – heart, and her own nervous thrill.

“Turn around,” she said softly.

He did. The tub was big enough for two more of him, so he had plenty of space to do so, wings and everything. Before she traced the sponge over his back, however, Luna’s attention was whisked away by the tattoos along his spine.

Dark ink ran down his skin in twirls and symbols, moving with his muscles as Seren folded his wings. She touched a finger to the centre of one of those symbols and he visibly tensed, all over, wings too. Luna looked up, and whispered, “They’re beautiful.”

“I got them after the Blood Rite.”

Luna traced another one, enjoying the way his breathing changed as she did so. “What’s a Blood Rite?”

Seren took a moment or so to answer. “It’s an event,” he murmured, so softly, “for Illyrians who come of age. Young warriors who wish to prove themselves, and become true warriors.”

Luna blinked, then ran her sponge over his back, starting at the nape of his neck. Seren shivered as the water trickled down his back, caressing his wings. “What do you have to do?” Luna asked. 

“Reach the top of Ramiel Mountain, touch the monolith. Our wings are bound, and we are offered no weapons or resources or anything that might be an advantage.” A pause. “My brother, Naza, and I competed at the same time.”

“Naza – your cousin?”

He nodded. “The rest of my cousins will be taking the Rite next year.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

She felt him smile. “I passed out.”

Luna’s hand halted. “You did?”

“From exhaustion,” Seren recalled. “I’d been attacked by a forest spirit – got blood all over me. Naza had been ahead of us. But Aidan stayed back – if he hadn’t, I would have been dead.”

Luna’s stomach churned.

But Seren said, “Don’t worry,” as her agitation became clear. “I only spent two weeks on bedrest after that.”

Luna widened her eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel calmer?” She resumed her work, but shook her head. “Is that why you’re so strong? I would have reckoned you just ate really well.”

He smiled at her little humour. “It was important to me that I completed the Rite.”

“But what about the risks?”

Seren looked at her over his shoulder. “The risks are always worth taking.”

A pause, as they looked at one another. Luna felt unbelievably bare, and not in a naked sense. Seren saw more than her skin. He saw her heart. And that kind of vulnerability would take a little while to get used to.

He smiled gently at her as Luna continued to wash him, but as she traced the upper membrane of one wing, Seren’s shoulders visibly shook.

Luna muttered an apology. “You told me they were sensitive – I just didn’t know how much.”

“You can carry on,” he murmured.

She hesitated, taking in his profile.

After a moment, however, Luna gave up on the sponge. Her own fingers traced the inside of his wing, and Seren breathed in, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. Luna felt a smile coming, and she didn’t fight it. She continued to explore on her own, memorizing every little touch, every little way Seren’s breath hitched when she touched a particularly sensitive spot, taking her time to feel the small, faded scars underneath her fingertips.

Then, she leaned in, kissing the top of his spine.

Seren let out a long breath, eyes fluttering shut.

Desire coursed through her at that little sound, and Luna’s mouth moved further down, down. Her lips traced the inner side of his wing, and Seren’s muscles locked.

Slowly, he turned to her, and before she knew it, his lips were on hers. Gentle, inviting, but hungry.

It did nothing to quench the endless need already growing at the bottom of her stomach, turning her blood to fire. When he broke away, and looked at her, all of her turned into molten lava. Those eyes – she would never get over those eyes.

Seren’s eyes devoured her body at once, his lips parting to let out a soft sigh as he memorized every curve. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, and Luna leaned into his touch, her cheeks impossibly hot. Her hands traced his chest, his arms, then up – to his neck, his cheeks. He looked like a paradise come to life.

“You’re beautiful,” she found herself saying.

“Me?” he breathed, smiling down at her, his eyes full of emotion. “Look at you, my love.”

She told herself to be brave, but right then and there, Luna could have disintegrated into shy smiles and rosy cheeks.

His hands traced her hips. “Come here.”

Seren inched one of her legs up, over his waist, and then she was moving closer, all on her own, to sit on his thighs. This close, with his eyes watching her so tenderly, her fears dissipated all at once. And all she wanted to do was touch him.

His lips met hers halfway, and that fire returned, burning brightly inside her, until Luna could no longer keep herself still. Her hands traced his cheeks, her body pressing against him. He kissed her so sweetly, she almost died right then and there.

Soon after, Seren broke the kiss, but only to give her neck some attention. Luna ran her hands through his hair and he groaned against her skin, making her body tingle with anticipation. His lips moved from her neck, to her throat, and a soft noise fell out of her mouth before she could stop it, right as Seren’s hands drifted up and down her body, from her thighs, to her waist. And then his mouth lowered again, and he kissed her breasts with careful intent, his fingers digging into her skin.

She couldn’t breathe. Just couldn’t.

She needed something to ease that tension, but-

How to tell him?

How to show him?

It appeared she didn’t have to. Seren could read his mate as easily as breathing. His head lifted, and his mouth was against her ear. “Already burning, love?”

Her eyes fluttered shut. His voice, his scent, his arms around her, his touch, it was all too much. She could barely remember how to form words, but she whispered something to him that might have been a faint _yes_.

Seren’s midnight hair tipped forward as he chuckled so softly, so full of delight and want for her. Luna smiled as he teasingly dragged a hand on the inside of her thigh, the movement slow under the water, purposefully so.

“And what does my mate want me to do about it?”

The very word coming from his lips no longer frightened her. It made Luna relax in a way she hadn’t been able to before. It warmed her heart. _Mine. Mine. Mine._

She had found her mate through tragedy and pain, worlds away, and she knew, deep down, she _knew_ that she had nothing to fear.

“Humm?” He teased when she didn’t answer, her mind turning to smoke as that hand drifted closer to where she most needed him.

She kissed him gently, silently begging, but Seren murmured against her, “That won’t do, beautiful.”

“Touch me.”

“Good,” Seren grinned, pecking her lips. “Was that so hard?”

Taunting bastard.

Luna had half a mind to tell him to fuck off, but as his hand moved between her legs, every thought was whisked away.

The sounds he pulled form her should have never left her lips by how absolutely sinful they were. But he only made her burn more.

Her hips shifted underneath the water, but Seren expertly averted her movements, until she was almost crying on his shoulder, begging him for _anything_.

Gentle as ever, he tipped her body back, until she was resting on the slope of the tub, and he was hovering above her, pretty lips forming a loving smile. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes.”

Seren traced her flushed cheek with his thumb, then her bottom lip, and the sheer sight of him above her, wanting, and spreading her legs on the water, made her mind spin. She pulled him closer, until they were pressed together, and she could feel every inch of him pressing against her. They traded kisses, a shadow crossing her closed lids. Luna looked at him to see powerful wings hovering above them both, like a shield.

Seren whispered to her, “I love you.”

Luna watched him for a moment, committing his expression to memory. “You’re mine,” she said against him.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Luna drifted closer, hips rising to meet his. “I love you.”

When they connected, Luna’s mouth parted, but no other words fell out of her. Seren slid in to the hilt, and his careful mouth kissed her lips, slowly, as she adjusted to the size of him. Hair nails were already digging into his shoulders, leaving pretty little marks, the warmth water around her scalding as Luna shifted her hips this way and that.

“Be good,” he growled, sweet and rough, sending pleasant chills down her spine as he pecked her lips.

Her hips shifted again, and a soft moan left her mouth. “I _am_ being good.”

He wasn’t close enough. As Luna pulled him closer, kissing his jaw softly, tugging at the hair at the back of his neck and clenching her thighs around him, Seren let out a sound that was music to her ears.

“You’re a menace,” he whispered, slick with desire. He moved carefully, but it was enough for Luna to beg for more.

They moved in unison, the water slushing over the tub, but neither of them cared. There could be a thousand hurricanes outside, but their eyes would not turn away from each other. Not by any chance. Luna pulled her mate closer, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips, allowing herself to fall, fall, fall.

And it was bliss, bliss, bliss.

***

Oren had enough of the stares.

The moment he’d stepped into Court, a thousand eyes had followed him and his uncle Enda all the way through the palace. This part of Doranelle did not feel like home. Not at all.

Only a day before, he’d stopped at home, only for the night.

He’d told his parents everything after he’d put his little sisters to sleep. His two older brothers had clenched their fists, but had listened thoroughly. Their bad tempers urged them to fight Vanserra, too, but after Oren had told them it would be no use to journey to Terrasen at this point, for it would take too much time, his brothers had sulked and gone to bed.

He knew they would destroy anyone willing to lay a finger on him.

Their hearts were in the right place. But Oren would not allow them to fight.

After it was just him and his parents, Oren had told them of Enda.

His mother’s face hadn’t changed from the agony of knowing what had happened to him. His father’s eyes had still been fixed on his scars.

“You lied to Enda, didn’t you?” He asked them both. “He came to you, in search of me, but you wanted to protect me.”

Oren hadn’t needed an answer. The way his mother had lowered her eyes was enough. He quickly came to the realization that they felt guilty – because they thought they’d taken a life from him, instead of giving him one. Which was preposterous. He assured them that, even though he would meet his father and his siblings, Oren’s family would always be _this_ one. Blood relations did not translate to _family_.

He’d meant it all.

_This was his family._ Those were his brothers, lying awake, worrying. Those were his sisters, sleeping happily after he read them a story, unaware that something terrible and traumatic had happened to him. And those were his parents. His loving, wonderful parents. They would remain so forever.

But Oren had to know.

He had to see his father for himself.

But now, as he waited on the gardens of the palace, Oren’s hands were clammy. People called him _Sir_ , and _My Lord_ , and a courtesan had taken one look at him, seen his father’s face, and mumbled a, _My Prince_ , which was bizarre. He had no title yet. And wasn’t sure he wanted it.

He had never been aware of how much he looked like his father until he saw him.

Arwel walked down the stairs leading to the gardens with unexpected grace, his white hair pushed back, his face showing sighs of wariness and tiredness. Arwel would never age, of course, but it was clear which one of them was older.

Enda had given Oren privacy to speak to his father, but as he watched Arwel approach him, Oren felt like he needed his uncle more than ever. Suddenly, words failed him.

Nothing in his father’s face screamed traitor or bastard. But he could see the slight sneer, like it was always present, the cruel lines of his mouth and eyes.

Oren paused. Arwel stood a couple of steps away, close enough for Oren to see himself reflected in his eyes. It was true. They wore the same damned face. The only thing Oren got from his mother were his lips, and his skin. Hopefully he had her heart, too. But he had no way of knowing.

“Enda tells me he found you in the Queen of Terrasen’s fortress,” was Arwel’s opening line. Oren straightened. His father’s tone was hard, his voice almost dismissive. “The fire-breathing bitch-queen still putting up with my cousin?”

Oren instantly saw red. “Don’t call Aelin that.”

His father smiled, like Oren had proved him something. “Oren,” Arwel said. “I thought you were dead.”

“I bet you wish I was, too.”

Arwel shrugged. “It would have made no difference to me.”

Such amount of cruelty. Oren wondered what had twisted this male’s heart that much.

“Right,” Oren said. “You never knew me. Would you have killed me, if you had?”

A pause. Arwel considered him for a little. “Why would I kill my own blood?”

“You tell me.”

Two siblings. Arwel had fathered two more children after Oren’s mother perished. Did he love them? Oren guessed that it was a hard no. Enda said he had raised them himself, and that his siblings cared not for Arwel. It seemed that not many people did, either.

“You are no threat to me, Oren,” Arwel said evenly. It sounded like a warning, somehow.

“But you didn’t want me.”

“I’m not cut out to be a father.”

“But you’re cut out to ruin a female’s life, then?” Oren spat back. He narrowed his eyes. “My mother had to deal with everything on her own.”

Something in his eyes flashed. Dangerously so. Arwel lowered his voice, jaw tense, “Your mother was a fool. She knew what I was before she fell in love with me.”

“Right,” Oren said. “And you took that love and what did you do? Crush her into pieces.”

“I didn’t kill her, boy,” Arwel snarled softly. “You did.”

Oren’s heart might have come to a stop.

Arwel continued, “You’re not even close to your third decade on this world, and I’ve been here for three centuries. Careful, now.” Arwel began to turn away.

It was Oren’s turn to sneer. He reckoned he looked awfully like Arwel when he did it. “I think you loved her, Arwel.”

The Prince stopped.

Raised his head.

But did not turn to look at Oren, as if frozen in place.

“I think she was the only person you ever truly loved,” Oren continued. “And I think you never came to terms with it, because you were afraid that she would throw you out like trash. And so you decided to throw her out first. Isn’t that right? How wrong would it have been, truly, Arwel, to have a family of your own? I suppose it was much easier to hide behind the excuse of your title. When you push everyone away, no one can hurt you,” Oren shook his head. “But the thing is, Arwel, that guilt bites at you. I can see how it kills you, day by day. You lost the one thing that could have made you whole, and you’d rather keep wasting away than admit it.”

Before his mind registered it, Arwel was an inch from him, growling into his face.

Oren stood still, watching his father. “What are you going to do, Arwel?” Oren whispered. “Kill me?”

Arwel breathed hard, hands shaking.

Oren smiled. “Did you know my mate was held captive and almost killed, while I could do nothing?” He neared his father, daring him to strike. “Arwel, I can assure you, that after experiencing _that_ level of fear, _nothing_ will be able to frighten me. Not even you.”

Arwel watched him for a second, then snarled, “Why are you here, boy? If you were already so determined to despise me, why did you come here?”

“I needed to see if you were as much of a disappointment as I thought you to be,” Oren said, then backed away. “You just proved me right.” Then, he said, “For the record, your brother hasn’t given up on you.”

And then Oren brushed past his father, leaving him in the gardens staring at nothing and no one. But before he could go back into the palace, a messenger stopped him.

“Y-Your Highness-”

“Please don’t,” Oren grimaced. “I’m really not-“ Then he sighed. “Yes?”

The messenger showed him an envelop that smelled vaguely of the sea and someone all too familiar. “A letter came for you. A messenger from Suria delivered it personally.”

***

“Hello, your Highness.”

Eva sighed.

Well, then.

Ragnar moved first. A gunshot sounded, and he wrapped his body around Eva, pulling her down onto the ground. But she was already shifting. Her abilities were like claws, pulling back from Ragnar as quick as a snakebite, like he’d never worn a different face. Before Vanserra’s bullet could pierce through the door behind them, before Ragnar could even get her out of the room, Eva pulled away from his arms.

With a growl that reverberated through the world, Eva Ashryver was left behind, and in her place, stood a beast.

Screams were heard around the room. They were not prepared for what she had become. Claws dug into the wooden table, shattering it to pieces, her fangs were curved and long, dripping with rage and hunger. She was bigger than an adult horse, so large she could barely fit inside that room. Between Ragnar and Vanserra’s crew was not his mate. She was gone.

The beast lifted itself in its clawed feet, its black fur rising like spikes. A roar that made his ears bleed tore through the world.

And then it all went to shit.

*** 

“ASHRYVER.”

She was not there anymore.

“ASHRYVER.”

Whatever part of her that remained, however small, it still wanted to protect him, and so when the bullets came, when they all came, she stood in front of him, a paw pushing him away with a kick to his gut whenever he tried to fight back. 

“ASHRYVER, PLEASE. EVA.”

Blood spilled. She’d caught someone who’d tried to strike at her, and had just broken their body in two, red spilling down her jaw and sharp teeth. Through all that destruction, some fled, breaking over the door. Screams outside signified that everyone had left the tavern, and were now running for their lives.

For half a second, Ragnar saw Vanserra’s face through the beast’s shoulder. He shouted something at those who ran. He was not happy about them fleeing. This is not what he had planned. No. He could have predicted Eva would come, but he couldn’t have predicted she would become this.

And that his people would leave him.

“Eva, please-”

She tore through them left and right, and even when a bullet pierced her shoulder, she did not falter. Blood poured down her paw, and she kept moving. Another one dead. Another. The beast’s goal was Vanserra, and he knew it.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

The shadows came, one by one.

This – this had been her signal. Her growl.

One by one, Vanserra’s crew – the ones Eva had not yet killed – were ceased by Alric’s spies.

A bullet flew right past Ragnar’s head. His ears were buzzing, and the ground was shaking, making it impossible for him to even lift himself. 

_No, no, no._ _Where are they? Where are they? They should be here-_

_Eva. Eva. Eva._

_Vanserra_.

He was nowhere to be seen.

_No-_

“Eva-!”

Ragnar was too late.

One second, Vanserra was missing in the middle of the bloody crowd. And then, before Ragnar could react, a bottle of red liquid was swinging in the air, thrown right at Eva’s – the beast’s – face.

A sizzling sound was heard, and the beast roared in pain, right in front of Ragnar. Poison – it was poison tearing through her fur, her skin, her neck cracking open to reveal gruesome cuts. The stench was burning, making his eyes water.

Eva breathed hard, those black eyes turning to Vanserra-

But neither of them could move.

Right then and there, the roof of the tavern _broke_ _down_.

As if-

As if a great weight had been thrown atop it.

Ragnar moved towards Eva, but she was faster. With a growl, she placed herself right above him, her teeth gripping his tunic hard, and pushing him down onto the floor so hard he could not breathe.

The world fell on them.

But Ragnar opened his eyes.

No – the roof hadn’t fallen. A hole had formed, right above them, dust and particles rose from the floor, a wave of grey so dense it looked like a cloth had been placed over his eyes. Blood – her blood – poured down on top of him. Eva’s breathing was shallow. Little rocks fell over her fur.

They both looked up-

To see a wyvern’s head peeking through the roof.

Ragnar didn’t hide his relief. They were here. At last.

Eva growled, her head snapping from side to side. Vanserra had left.

But her cuts-

Eva snarled at the two shadows who came into the room, their eyes wide. She seemed to be giving orders.

“But, Your Highness,” one of them said urgently. “There are more outside.”

Eva looked down at Ragnar.

No.

No, she wouldn’t-

“ASTERIN,” Ragnar screamed for the witches. “GET HER OUT.”

But Asterin was fighting outside.

And Ragnar had been a fool to know Eva wouldn’t have a backup plan. Of course she did. She had a backup plan for him. Not for her.

For she looked up, her eyes silently ordering the shadows. And then she was off him, and Ragnar’s body was hauled up by the two Fae spies. Ragnar fought against them, but two Fae’s strength holding him down was not an easy fight.

Through the hole on the roof, Ragnar could see more wyverns arrive. Asterin had gotten his note. She’d come.

But his mate-

No matter how much he screamed for her, no matter how much he fought to get loose, they would not let him go. This had been her plan. To get him out.

And, once again, Ragnar was rendered useless.

***

The beast saw fifty more of them approach the tavern.

The townspeople had closed their doors and windows, and were now praying to dead gods and goddesses.

Wyverns flew over above. But the beast did not care. The beast wanted one particular meal.

And it was nowhere to be seen.

His scent was fresh, though.

And the beast was losing more blood by the hour.

Witches formed a line behind her, the roar of their wyverns deterring the full-blooded Fae now walking towards them. Just slightly.

The beast looked from side to side.

“EVA,” Asterin shouted from behind her. “If you’re there, I will give the order to attack on your signal.”

Her shadows pushed the ones that had been in the room with her down onto the ground. The beast felt the poison seep into her veins, making her weaker. The stench burned her nose.

Before she could signal to Asterin, Eva – the beast – saw it: one by one, the windows began to open. People peered through with fearful gazes, humans and Fae alike.

All eyes on her.

All faces showing fear – of _her_.

And Eva understood what Vanserra’s plan was at last.

This was not about ending her life.

This male – he would tell a different plan to a different person each different time. Because at the end of the day, he would keep his real plan for himself.

He wanted the people to see the beast in her.

Vanserra knew these people fighting for him today were the last ones to believe him. Fifty was not enough. Eva would finish them off in less than an hour.

No.

Vanserra wanted Eva to reveal herself. To make the people think like him. He wanted her to become what he thought shifters and half-breeds were.

Murderers.

This was a trick.

He’d planned it all.

He’d suspected that she’d come to him, after what had happened with Atarah. Vanserra was not stupid. He was a genius. Hiding behind a million pen names, a thousand books, a century of personas and different names. He was used to these games. And so, he was always a step further.

Or he tried to be.

He’d made them all come – his pawns. So, he’d have his war. So that Eva would try to fight and kill them all to protect herself, her family, and Ragnar. So the people of this town would see not a girl with vengeance in her mind, not a girl defending herself and the male she loved, not a girl trying to stop a male from brutality killing more innocents in secret, but a wicked Princess who murdered without pity, or mercy, or reason. After today, more would join his cause.

This was his plan.

And so, Eva made a decision.

Her rage burned brightly within her, and the beast wanted to dig her claws into those merciless killers. The ones who had threatened her mate, her family, and herself. The ones who spat her mother’s name and dragged it through the dirt in taverns like these. The ones who taunted the demi-Fae, who called her Queen an _unnatural_. How many more strange disappearances would there be? How many more demi-Fae and shifters would die at the hands of these people?

Meah was a place of both Fae and humans.

Vanserra chose his location well.

All would see her.

So, they would.

Eva – the beast – made a hissing squeal, like a puppy being kicked. Her pain was real, very much real, mind you. But a little theatre would always go a long way, friends.

The beast fell to the ground.

She heard Asterin’s gasp from behind her. Eva prayed the witch would catch on.

Wary of what was happening, and much too wary of the winged beasts behind Eva, Vanserra’s cronies did not move. They hissed at her, as Eva slowly transformed back to herself.

Her cuts began to hurt so much more.

Her throat had almost been ripped open by that poison.

Her veins hurt.

Her breathing was shallow.

Suddenly, there was no fur between her and the cobblestones. It was just her bloody skin on the cold ground, now covered with red.

“Asterin,” one witch hissed.

“Wait,” Asterin whispered.

_That’s right,_ Eva almost grinned. _Asterin, you smart girl._

Eva burst into tears.

Painful sobs.

Giving in to her pain.

She thought of Ragnar’s safety, but did not allow it to be a relief to her. She cried harder. Harder. Until the entire town was at its windows, staring at her naked self, bloody and battered, hurt, a Princess of Terrasen bleeding on the cobblestones.

Eva reached out a hand, “He… wants… to… kill me.”

A person gasped above her on a second floor somewhere.

“Catch Viktor Vanserra,” Eva whispered. “He hurt my family.”

With all the people of the town to see, Eva sobbed harder, her hand pointed towards Vanserra’s cronies, now slowly backing away as the wyverns growls threatened to devour them.

Asterin watched them abandon their place. She would not have it.

“People of Meah,” Asterin said, loud and clear, the booming of her voice snapping Eva from her pain. “You recognize me as your Princess. My name is Asterin Havilliard Crochan. I am the daughter of your King, and the daughter of the Witch Queen.”

As she spoke, two witches slowly hauled Eva to her feet, and a cloak was placed around her. Eva recognized them both, but could not force words of thanks out of her mouth. The first witch wrapped her up in her arms, called for her wyvern, and Eva felt herself being lifted into the air.

She sobbed harder.

It wasn’t all a show. She did feel like she could drown in her tears.

But let the people hear her.

“Today, I was called to protect the Princess of Terrasen, who was kidnapped, tortured, forced to defend herself, and almost killed today by a male who goes by the name Viktor Vanserra. That male has run away from his crimes.” Asterin’s golden eyes were flames. “And that same male, people of Adarlan, has gathered his pawns,” she pointed to those who were being arrested, and those who were now fleeing, “to kill our allies. These people have been torturing shifters and demi-Fae behind our backs for centuries, and their prejudice knows no bounds. You are all witnesses to what happened here today. You, people of Adarlan, have seen how far Viktor Vanserra’s hatred has gone. To target Terrasen is to target Adarlan. To target its Queen is to target my father and my mother. And to target the Princess of Terrasen is to target _me_.”

Eva’s senses were slowly being whisked away. But she forced herself to remain conscious in the witch’s arms. She begged her body to keep up. Admiring Asterin’s way of embellishing the words and the story was one way to keep herself awake. Remembering Ragnar was safe was another.

Asterin’s gaze travelled over Vanserra’s crew. “Flee while you can. You will all be found. Justice for those who have already been lost and for those we almost lost today will be my driving force to find you.” She addressed her people again. “Wherever you go, say his name. Viktor Vanserra will not go unpunished. We created an accepting world. A world of peace. Not one more drop of innocent blood will be spilled ever again.”

Eva didn’t know how Asterin and her witches came to be here.

But as the witches flew high in the skies, the shadows moving towards the castle of Adarlan with the prisoners, Eva could not be more thankful.

“Asterin,” Eva managed to say as they rose higher and higher in the skies. “Asterin.”

The Princess turned to her, then turned the reins, so her wyvern drifted closer. Despite the wind, Asterin heard her fine. “Ragnar-”

“Is being brought to the palace of Meah as we speak.”

“Wait-”

“He messaged me, Evie,” Asterin said. “I’m Ragnar’s backup plan.”

The bastard.

Her beautiful, clever, untrustworthy, sneaky, mate.

“But where is he?”

“Right behind us,” Asterin said. “I sent a wyvern to get him from your shadows. You need treatment, both of you, and my uncle’s castle is nearer than my father’s. Also, your prisoners will be sent to Terrasen immediately.”

But-

_Ah, shit_. That wouldn’t do.

Specially because Eva had just caught a scent in the wind.

A scent she had memorized all too well.

“Hey, Az.”

Asterin looked her way.

“Sorry for this,” Eva said. “I’ll catch up.”

Then she tore herself away from the witch holding her, and before any of the them could stop her, Eva threw herself off the wyvern, falling through the skies.

“EVA,” Asterin screamed. “YOU ABSOLUTE PSYCHOPATH!”

But it was already too late.

Eva allowed herself to feel the wind on her face, as her body slowly rotated towards the ground, headfirst. She counted in her head.

You can do this.

One last push.

_One._

_Come on, Eva._

_Two._

_Come on._

_Three._

Wings sprouted from her back, tearing through her cloak.

Intricate and long, like those of eagles. Despite the fabric over her body, the cold pierced through her skin like shards of glass.

Eva did not mind that.

She was quick as a bird of prey.

Through clouds of mist, rain began pouring down as Eva set her feet on the ground, rather clumsily. A dizzying spell took over, and she fell against the brick wall, her balance leaving her.

She braced herself. Above her, wyverns passed by.

Her body trembled, her heart aching.

_Keep it together._

On shaky legs, she followed that scent, keeping a tight grip on her arm, where the bullet had found a home. Everytime she moved, she felt it. But-

He was hurt. She could smell his blood.

Eva licked her lips, making her way through the empty streets.

Her wings disappeared, but the holes it made on her back-

Blood began to pour out.

 _Close it_ , she ordered herself. _Close it._

Exhaustion was not allowing her to.

She would bleed to death.

Eva slumped on the street, tripping over her own feet. Concentrating, her cheek pressed against the ground, she imagined her skin stitching together, her shoulder blades no longer bleeding, the pain no longer there.

She’d always closed her own wounds. This was no different.

_This is no different. Do it._

_I’m so tired._

_Do it._

_I want to lie here._

_Do it, Eva. For Ragnar. For your family._

_And for your own damn self. Because you deserve to live._

It took her a moment.

Eventually, slowly, so slowly, her skin stitched back together. Badly, of course. Her back was drenched in blood. Her skin ached where the wings had sprouted. But she was stitched together.

_Move._

It took her a moment to catch that scent again.

Despite her pain, her aches, her exhaustion, the bullet on her arm, Eva grinned.

He couldn’t hide from her now, no matter what he did, no matter where he was. She’d marked him.

And he knew it, too.

Some beastly, wicked part of her could almost feel his fear, still so far away, but nearer than ever. He couldn’t outrun her. She was his worst nightmare.

He thought he’d won.

But no one harmed her family and lived.

No one harmed her mate and lived.

She found him sobbing in a deserted house.

He’d given up.

He knew she would chase him to the ends of the earth, and there was no one to help him now.

She would not die before she got to him.

She refused.

Eva tore the door down.

Dust fell on her like snow.

Step, step, step. 

She could hear his muffled breathing.

Step, step, step.

She was a nightmare come to life.

***

Eva Ashryver was a cloaked shadow in the halls, creaking the old, putrid wood.

And he was a dead male.

He prayed.

He prayed.

He prayed.

His mother had told him he was too ambitious. That he would one day pay for it.

He hadn’t believed her.

His family had been humble. The legends of how they’d come to be in this world were now in books, books he’d written. He should have stuck with those, he thought. He should have listened to his mother. His beliefs got him nowhere. Losing all of them had brought him here. Loneliness and despair and hatred.

He’d had the upper hand. He almost had it all.

And now, he was slumped on a corner of an abandoned house, listening to his doom approach in slow, deadly steps. He was going to be ended by an abominable creature – the one he’d sworn to get rid of.

The cloaked shadow rounded the door and stared at him.

Smiled.

She was beautiful.

Creatures like her were always beautiful.

Her mother, too.

But beautiful often meant deadly.

How had things turned around for him so quickly?

“Hello, Vanserra,” she cooed.

She approached him, and he sobbed harder, pathetically.

Nothing would help him now.

He could hear wyverns far away.

“Your cult is going to be brought down,” Eva Ashryver said, her bloodied face and neck full of burns. His poison. Verbena. Not enough to stop her. “As you are.”

His knee was shattered underneath her foot.

The sound shook him to his core, and when the dizzying pain finally came-

“You peed yourself?” Eva said, cocking her head to the side as she heard him scream. “Where are your manners, Viktor? Weren’t you potty trained?”

She knelt down. Placed her hand on his other knee, and he braced himself. He just prayed she would be quick.

“I don’t smell any more of that poison on you,” she tutted. “Should have brought another bottle, uh?”

“Please.”

“Please what?” Eva growled. “The image of my mate lying in an infirmary bed with blood all over him will never leave my nightmares, Vanserra. But that was your only little gift to me. I will never allow you to touch any of them ever again.” Closing her hand, Eva Ashryver shattered his other knee.

Like it was nothing but a biscuit crumbling in her hand. 

The pain was so blinding he barely heard anything after that but his own screams.

“Do you want my mercy, Viktor?” Eva said. “Do you want the mercy you never gave shifters? What about all those innocent demi-Fae you killed? Uh? Do you want me to give you the mercy you gave them?”

“ _Please. Oh, please.”_

She smiled. “I will not kill you.”

She ripped the hem of her cloak. His pain surpassed anything he’d ever felt, so he couldn’t fight back. Could do nothing as she tied his hands behind his back.

“I will give you a worse fate,” Eva said against his ear. “I will give you pain you never felt before. I will show you a real beast.”

***

She dragged the bastard and his broken legs through the house.

Her vision blurred, and black dots swam around. She was going to faint. Or die. But she would get out of this house first.

A wyvern was waiting for her outside.

It looked like it had just landed, for a witch scurried out of the leathers that bound her to the saddle to reach for her.

But another figure reached her first.

Vanserra’s screams ceased to exist in that abandoned part of town.

She let him go and he fell to the ground.

And then her mate’s arms were around her, preventing her from colliding with the ground.

“Ashryver,” he whispered to her, so far away. Eva could not feel her body, could not feel him picking her up as the witch bound Vanserra to the wyvern. Could not hear anything but his soft murmurs as another wyvern settled down. Could not take notice of Asterin telling Ragnar to bring her, _quickly, bring her over, let’s go._

But she could hear Ragnar whispering to her, his voice like a memory in the back of her mind. “My beautiful mate. We are going home.”


	25. Chapter 25

The first time the girl changed, she was alone.

The forests of her land were infinite dark green labyrinths, filled with dangerous magic, a curious, tenebrous, but beautiful _something_ that called out to her, reaching for her as she wandered the sunlit halls of her home. You could not blame the girl for answering the call. Even if her father had told her time and time again, _Do not stray far, Eva._

Her brother had been the obedient one.

She was little, smaller than her twin, smaller than most children her age. Her legs were still clumsy, chubby with baby fat, and her first tooth had fallen out just the day before. Her gums still hurt.

The edge of the forest looked like a perfect place to play and venture into.

So, the girl did.

But a sound made her stop. It sounded like purring. Like cats. She adored cats. A few days ago, the girl had scraped her knees chasing them around. Alas, she was not yet fast enough to catch them.

The girl looked for the source of the sound with wonder in her eyes and excitement in her heart. But something, perhaps some young instinct, made her look up, toward the high branches of the oak trees.

Her steps halted.

The yellow eyes following her did not look friendly.

The creature was perched up on a branch. With its black fur amongst the dark leaves, it would have been perfectly camouflaged hadn’t the girl been extremely observant. It watched her hungrily. The girl recognized it being a cat.

A very, _very_ large cat.

Perhaps another child would have not been as perceptive to the danger.

But the instincts screamed at her. _You are in danger. You will get hurt. This creature will not accept your love. Do not attempt to offer it._

_Run._

The girl was smart, but she was afraid. Her legs no longer seemed to work, especially as the big cat graciously moved off the branch, until it was in front of her, in its full, terrible height, showing her sharp teeth.

She sank to the ground.

Her cheek pressed against the wet ground.

She trembled. 

And she shut her eyes, so tightly. Perhaps if she wished the animal away, it would go and leave her be.

Screaming for her parents did not occur to her.

Not as startling pains made her gasp.

Her bones shifted.

Her heart stopped – only to beat faster, and faster, and faster, until she could no longer breathe, until there was a strange pressure inside her ribcage, squeezing her heart-

The girl opened her tearful eyes.

In the place of her hands – were paws. Black fur. Claws.

The animal stared at her, and narrowed its yellow eyes.

She looked up.

The forest seemed to swallow her – and her vision-

Her eyes saw _everything_.

Before the girl could process anything, she was scooped up into someone’s arms. Someone who smelled familiar.

_Mama_.

The word did not leave her lips. 

She could not form any sounds.

Her mother looked down at her, and to this day – to this day, the girl couldn’t remember what her mother’s face had looked like. Shock? Surprise? Anger? Fear? All combined?

But she remembered the creature with the yellow eyes scurry away without a sound at her mother’s presence. She remembered her mother snuggling her into her chest, and whispering soft words into her ear, caressing her fur.

She was so frightened she could barely breathe.

It had taken hours. Hours upon hours for the girl to come back to herself. And when she did, she sobbed in her mother’s arms. _Please, mama, I don’t that to happen ever again! I was so scared, mama. I don’t want this. I don’t want this._

“ _There, there, my love.”_

The sobs eventually stopped.

And when they did, her mother tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, her hands caressing her cheeks. “ _My love,”_ Lysandra had told her, “ _do not be afraid. This is what you are_.”

“What am I, mama?”

Lysandra had smiled. “ _You are a million things, Eva. All of them beautiful.”_

***

She believed it.

There was no limit to what she could do, or what she could become. If there was a form she had not taken, it was because she had yet to get to it.

The girl became _power_.

That girl became both lightning _and_ thunder.

But she believed her mother. She was everything. A million beautiful things.

Little did the girl know that, in the near future, there would be people that refused to see her like her mother did. To them, she was not a beautiful thing.

She was a thing to be destroyed.

Eva smiled to herself in her feverish dreams. 

She smiled at all of those who wished her dead.

And she said to them, “ _Better luck next time, you fuckers_.”

***

“Fever is going down,” Ragnar whispered to Asterin, so as not to wake Eva. Although it was rather pointless – it was doubtful that the shifter would wake up even if there was a tsunami coming for them.

Asterin let out a long, grave sigh, her yellow eyes flashing in tiredness as she watched Ragnar drag a cold cloth over Eva’s face. The burns on her neck had been cleaned, rubbed with all kinds of healing ointments, and were now bandaged. The cuts on her face had been tended to, but the problem lay with her arm. The bullet had been buried so far into the flesh that, to remove it, the healers had to cut into the skin. Asterin reckoned that it would leave a pretty gnarly bruise, though, in that line of thought, she doubted Eva Ashryver would give a rat’s ass about it. Still. Watching her bandaged up, lip trembling in her sleep as her body summoned fever after fever was… not fun.

Asterin shook her head sternly. “How do you stay so calm?” Her voice was low, though it still seemed to echo in those chambers. “If it was Andrea, I…”

Then the witch’s mouth firmly shut, her brows furrowing at what she’d blurted out. It was no secret – what she felt for Andrea. But their love was still so fragile, and so tender, and so full of question marks, that Asterin felt strange about confessing her love for the Lochan girl right in front of her brother.

But Ragnar did not seem to wonder about it. He watched Asterin carefully, before sighing, gaze trailing back to Eva. “If I allowed myself to crumble everytime Eva puts herself in danger, I would not be standing in front of you right now, Az. I would have already died a hundred times over.” He took the cloth, and dipped it into a bowl of cold water. Healers had come and gone, but Ragnar had taken upon himself to do most of the work after they’d bandaged her. “I’m worried. I’m scared. But she’s alive. And that’s all that matters now.”

Asterin observed him, too. Ragnar sat close to Eva on her bed, while the witch stood to the side, biting the inside of her cheek nervously. “You did well in warning me.”

“I never thanked you.”

Asterin shrugged.

“It was a big deal, Az.”

“We’re like family,” Asterin said. “I love the fuck out of you – both of you. Of course I came for you.”

Ragnar paused. “How angry will Manon be with you for putting yourself in danger?”

Asterin grimaced, and Ragnar had his answer. But the witch still said, “Mum’s still in the Witch Kingdom, so that’s a plus. I’ll have a few more days before I face my eventual death.”

Ragnar, despite himself, smiled ever so slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Believe it or not, I’m more worried for that one,” she pointed her chin at Eva, disapproval and mild annoyance in her features, “than afraid of my mother.”

“She won’t let us down,” Ragnar whispered, dragging his thumb over Eva’s hand. “She did it, Az. She really did it.”

Asterin and Ragnar were quiet for a moment, listening for Eva’s quiet heartbeat, her gentle breathing, and the occasional sound of chattering teeth.

“Still – it was an absolute wreck of a plan. You realize that, right?”

“It was,” Ragnar murmured. That’s why he’d warned Asterin in the first place. Even if Eva would kill him for it, for involving more people and putting them in danger… well. He wouldn’t worry about it now. After all, she, too, had secretly planned to have him removed from the scene, when she’d promised him that they’d fight together. “But crazy as it sounds, she knew what she was doing. Do you know that that fucker can see bonds between people?”

Asterin scowled. “Vanserra can see mating bonds?”

“All kinds of bonds, according to Atarah and Oren.” A pause. “That’s why it was so lucky that Alric Nox caught both Willa and her mate.” Ragnar’s voice lowered, as if he was speaking to himself. His eyes searched Eva’s face. “I think that’s when her plan really came together – if we wore their faces, Vanserra would not see the lie. The mating bond was still there.”

Asterin almost choked. “Wait – you’re-?”

Ragnar looked over his shoulder, smiling slightly.

Asterin was without words. She looked between them both, wondering how on earth she had been so blind. And then, in a whisper, she asked, “Does she know?”

“I think so,” Ragnar said. “She hasn’t said a word. For some reason, I think she might be afraid to tell me.” He scoffed softly. “As if there has ever been anyone else but her.”

“Do you think she knows that you know?”

“I don’t know,” Ragnar whispered.

And then-

The doors of the infirmary creaked, and while Asterin expected to see another healer, it was her uncle Hollin, watching them both with weary eyes. From beside him, an equally worried Evangeline appeared.

Much like Dorian, Hollin’s Valg blood allowed him to remain immortal, and the bond between him and Evangeline kept his wife’s life tethered to him, as Elide’s was tethered to Lorcan. Still to that day, Asterin wondered about it – how much you must love someone to wish to bind your life to them, even if your perception of forever will change. Elide and Evangeline would never age, so as long as their partners didn’t.

Hollin pulled Evangeline closer – as if he needed that kind of support.

When Asterin had showed up with a pack of witches on her back, a bloody, passed-out Eva in her arms, and a wounded Ragnar sputtering curses through tears riding beside her, to say that her uncle had looked as if his heart had stopped in the middle of his chest would be a real understatement. Hollin had screamed orders at guards and healers left and right, while Evangeline had led Ragnar and his unconscious mate to the infirmary.

Their palace in Meah had been a wedding gift from Dorian, and Asterin reckoned that neither Hollin nor Evangeline had expected their safe haven to become this chaotic. Asterin felt it weigh on her conscience – evading their home like this. But Hollin had refrained from her and the witches to leave, muttering something about, _Not letting my niece walk around bloodied_ , and – with a disapproving shake of his head –, _Witches and their self-sacrifice._

Asterin had never seen her uncle so close to tears before, but that evening, as Asterin had explained what had happened to Eva, she’d seen the way Hollin’s eyes watered in absolute rage. Normally, he would act so very casual about it – but Eva and Ragnar were as much his family as Asterin was.

“How is she?” Evangeline whispered.

Asterin straightened, and forced a smile. “Healing.” A pause. “Thank you both again.”

Hollin shook his head, as if thanks were absolutely unnecessary. His face was grave. “The prisoners – and Vanserra – are bound to arrive in Adarlan by midnight. I already sent a note to my brother. We deemed it safer for them to be sent to Adarlan first, then shipped to Terrasen in the morning. There are no risks of interception this way.”

“Thank you,” Ragnar said, a little tightly at the mention of Vanserra. Good thing Ragnar had not seen the male since – Asterin firmly believed he wouldn’t have made it to Adarlan alive if Ragnar had put his hands on him.

“Ragnar, you should sleep,” Evangeline said softly, a mother’s voice coating her words.

“I’ll stay for a little while longer.”

“And you,” Hollin shot his youngest niece a look. “You should rest, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Hollin said firmly. He raised a brow, which was as much of an authoritarian gesture as he would allow. “Asterin.”

The witch gave him a reluctant smile. “Yes, I’ll rest soon.”

Soon after they left, Asterin turned to Ragnar. “You think it’s over?”

In turn, Ragnar intertwined his fingers with Eva’s, and whispered, “No.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s over yet.”

***

Alric was nervous, which was unusual.

Actually, let him rephrase that: he was absolutely shitting himself.

He’d stared at himself in the mirror for a good half-hour before he actually managed to leave his room. _Honestly_. There were more worrisome things at stake, like, you know, one of the Princesses was throwing herself into danger and Alric wasn’t there to assure that his spies did everything according to plan. Of course, he’d insisted to come, but at the end of the day, Eva was right. He _did_ have a recognizable face. And one more body hiding would not make a difference. She’d also told him, _“I need you to keep an eye on Aran so he doesn’t do anything stupid.”_

_“What makes you think I have any sway when it comes to your brother?”_

The shifter had shot him a bored look. “ _You want to pretend you both aren’t chasing each other around like lovesick puppies?”_

So that was that.

It made him a little uneasy that Aran would be able to hear his footsteps, hell, even his heart, the moment Alric crossed his corridor. Possibly even before. There was nothing Alric could hide form the former Prince. Trying would just result in Alric becoming endlessly embarrassed.

Even though he knew it was useless, he still knocked on the door of his chambers. The guards stared him down, and Alric faced each one with schooled arrogance, raising his brows in wicked smugness, until they all turned their gazes away.

“Come in.”

Alric stepped inside, and shut the door on the guards faces. “Nosy busybodies you got out there-”

In the centre of the room, a table was prepared.

The smell itself should have been an indicator of what Aran had planned, but it still made Alric’s eyes widen, and his mouth water. The way the dishes were presented was beautiful, intricate, even. Two candles sat in the middle of the table, burning away, and they were one of the few sources of light inside the room. While it was dim, Alric’s very human eyes could see everything – and every inch of Aran’s uneasy smile.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one to take you to dinner,” Alric said, placing his stupid, nervous hands behind his back. As he stared at Aran’s casual clothes, he suddenly felt very silly in his formal black tunic.

Aran leaned against the table and smirked. “Do you have any qualms about us dining in my room?”

Alric shifted on his feet. “No.”

“You look like you do.”

The spy frowned. “I don’t.”

“Are you nervous, Alric?”

Alric shot the former Prince a look. “Why would I be nervous?”

Aran narrowed his eyes slightly, one corner of his mouth rising. “Well, I certainly am.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

He shrugged. “I had two cups of wine.”

Alric worked his jaw, fighting a smile.

“And the guards…” Aran paused. “I told them to go.”

Alric fought a shiver. “Good.” He walked to Aran, his eyes on the table – on the delicious food. “No meat?”

“I know you don’t go near meat or fish.”

Alric blinked. “How do you know that?”

Aran breathed in, smile fading a bit. “I have been paying attention.”

Alric paused for a moment. It had been so thoughtful of Aran. Most people didn’t bother asking nor remembering, and Alric had long given up expecting them to. So, genuinely pleased, he mumbled a small, “Thank you,” which made Aran smile.

But only for a moment.

Then, Aran’s gaze turned to the window, for only the slightest moment, before they sat down. Even if Aran began talking almost immediately after, Alric hadn’t missed that – just as he hadn’t missed worry crossing Aran’s eyes, or how his body tensed.

“She’ll be okay,” Alric murmured.

And because he wanted Aran to believe it, he took a leap, and touched Aran’s hand over the table. He was warm, and the contrast of soft skin and hard calluses on the pads of his fingers made Alric want to intertwine his fingers with his.

So he did.

Aran watched their hands with a look of quiet awe, but before he could speak, Alric said, “We don’t have to do this tonight if you can’t. I understand. It’s not about me.”

“I _want_ you here,” Aran said, his voice firm, his eyes gentle. His thumb drew circles on the back of Alric’s hand. “I think I _need_ you here, too.”

Now, the thing about Aran Ashryver is that-

He had a _way_ of looking at Alric that just… pinned him in place. Made him feel warm all over. Not the kind of warmth you get on your cheeks from embarrassment, but the kind of cosy, wonderful, perfect warmth you feel after putting on your favourite sweater, or after you’ve sat down by the fire. It feels safe and good and _right_.

And Alric was fucking done for.

“Prince,” Alric murmured then. “I am crazy for you.”

He’d hoped Aran already knew as much. But just in case.

Aran’s thumb stopped on Alric’s hand, and then Aran’s eyes turned upwards. It wasn’t surprise that crossed his face, not exactly. But again – that quiet awe in his eyes…

“You always react like that,” Alric said, his voice soft. “Like you’re astonished that I might want you. Like it’s insane. Why is that?”

Suddenly, Alric felt Aran pull away, even if he didn’t let go of his hand. He saw Aran shield himself when he turned his eyes away from the question. He was hiding.

“Hey,” Alric said. “I don’t bite unless you ask me to.”

Aran did not take the bait.

Instead, he sighed, and said, “I guess it’s because I’m always expecting you to change your mind.”

Alric halted. The food was ignored, the world was ignored. His attention was solemnly on Aran as he continued, “The reason why you’ve never seen me with a female – or a male – is because they did not want to be with me, Alric.”

He frowned. “Why?”

Aran went silent.

“Aran,” Alric murmured. “Don’t pull away from me.”

His eyes, flashing green, looked up at Alric, before looking down at the table. Aran worked his jaw, mumbling, “For a long time, I thought I was only good enough to fuck. Nothing else.”

Alric must have frozen. His very heart must have stopped, for Aran looked up again, full of anxiousness. He continued, though: “Of course I know that I’m worth much more than that. I know I’m good, and kind, and I have so much to give. But-“ A pause. “There are times when I still believe what they told me. There are times when I look at you and I want you so much. I want you so much that it’s almost an ache. And it’s so frightening.” Aran shakes his head. “To want someone this much and know that I am still willing to let you see all of me, see _everything_ , while picturing you walking away in my head each time you look at me.”

Silence descended on them like pouring rain.

Aran looked almost afraid. He began to pull his hand back.

Alric held on tighter. “Where are you going, Prince?”

Aran blinked. The spy frowned. “You say you want me and then expect me to be anything other than fucking head over heels for you? Seriously?”

“I-”

“Fuck them all,” Alric said, leaning over the table. “Fuck whoever dared to tell you that you weren’t good enough. Fuck. That. You _are_ good enough, Prince. And you don’t need me to tell you that, but- _fuck_ , you are. The moment I walked through these halls and looked at you, I knew that one day I’d be sitting here, holding your hand, and dying to kiss you. Call it whatever you might want, but I couldn’t care less if it was fate, circumstance, luck, none of that matters. Because what matters to me is you. I care, Aran. I could never fool you, or trick you. Hear my heart. Feel it. Does this feel like a lie to you?”

Aran was without words.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” said Alric. “I’m afraid every day. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck this up, because I don’t know the first thing about relationships. I don’t know the first thing about courting someone, clearly. But I’m not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of you.” Alric breathed in, realizing he’s diving into half-hysterics, but not giving a single flying fuck. “And I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I want you to show me your fears and I want you to know mine, and I want us to talk about them. Hiding is what I do for a living, Aran. But I’ll be damned if I ever hide from you.”

Green met grey.

And the rain was washed away.

“You,” Aran whispered, “are an absolute dream.”

“Yeah?”

Aran nodded, “I don’t want to hide from you, either.”

Alric walked around the table, whilst Aran looked up in wonder. The spy pulled Aran’s chair back, and leaned in, so close to his face, “Then don’t.”

Aran’s hands moved to touch Alric’s cheeks. “By the way,” he smiled softly, “that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever told me.” Alric’s cheeks actually pinked, which seemed to delight Aran to no end. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for caring about you,” Alric said, leaning further in, nudging Aran’s nose with his, “It’s not an effort, Prince.”

“I told you not to call me Prince,” Aran whispered, lifting himself up.

Sharing breath, his hands moving over Aran’s chest, Alric said, “What shall I call you then?” His lips touched the corner of Aran’s mouth, a little teasingly. “Love? Sweetheart? Baby?”

“All of those,” Aran said distractedly, as Alric’s teasing lips travel over his jawline, then to take his earlobe between his teeth. _Not fair, not fair,_ Aran wanted to say, but he was enjoying it way too much, and he wasn’t strong enough to pretend otherwise.

Aran braced himself for Alric’s kiss, but when Alric pushed back slightly, with the back of Aran’s thighs pressed against the table and Alric’s hands on his chest, the spy told him, “I mean it. You are a beautiful thing in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”

Aran’s eyes softened, and his entire body relaxed underneath Alric’s touch. “Will you tell me that again when my brain is being a mess?”

“I’ll tell you again, and again,” Alric whispered, so sweetly, touching his lips to Aran’s jaw. “As many times as you need to hear it.”

Then Aran touched Alric’s cheeks, and kissed him.

It wasn’t like any other kiss they’d shared. Aran had begun to learn that with Alric, there would be an entire variety of kisses for every occasion that he still had to explore. But that night, Alric tasted like warm honey. It was slow, and gentle, and Aran ran his fingers through Alric’s dark locks, until Alric’s little sounds were muffled by their kissing.

A knock sounded.

Aran had been so distracted that he hadn’t heard anyone approach. His hand shot out to grasp the table, balancing himself, and he shot Alric a look of annoyance, which amused the spy _immensely_. Alric placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, his hands wrapping around Aran’s middle…

“What is it?” Aran grunted.

A gentle voice sounded from outside his doors. A maid’s voice, which made Aran freeze. “Your Highness,” they still called him that, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s important.”

Aran’s heart fell.

Bad feelings always creep up on you when you least expect them to.

He shared a look with Alric as he said, “What?”

The maid’s voice sounded again, “Your sister, Your Highness.”

_No._

“Aran,” said Alric.

But Aran was already moving, with Alric close to him, opening the door quickly, startling the maid and everyone passing by. The poor girl shrunk, and took three steps back, her face becoming as pale as the walls behind her.

“What happened?” Aran whispered, voice failing him. “Where is she? Where is Eva?”

“Calm down,” Alric’s gentle voice was close, but Aran heard nothing else but the echo of those words, _Your sister, your sister, your sister._

The maid was quick to say, after her initial fright subsided, “She is safe, Your Highness. Forgive me. I… there was an attack, but she was rescued, both the Princess and the Lord of Perranth are safe in the palace of Meah, recovering from their wounds. The Prince of Adarlan sent his note to your Lady Mother, it arrived a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, Gods,” Aran whispered, bursting into tears. “She’s alive.”

Alric pulled him close, and Aran didn’t have the words to thank him. He might have fallen apart, crumbling to the ground, if Alric hadn’t been there. “She’s alive,” Alric repeated, kissing the top of Aran’s head. “She’s alive, love.”

***

“About time.”

Eva’s vision was blurry.

In front of her, there were walls she didn’t recognize. She would never dare to paint her walls this strange, pale blue colour. And the ceilings were way too high. Caraverre had changed.

But she wasn’t in Caraverre.

And the voice speaking to her-

That wasn’t her mother.

Asterin Crochan was staring her down her beautifully sculpted nose like a hawk deciding if it should eat the already rotting mouse. Her white brows were pinched together, and her mouth was pressed into a hard line.

“Hey, you,” she said, rather impatiently. “You look like shit.”

“Ah,” Eva said, dazed.

“You’re high on medicine, also,” she tutted. A pause. “Can you recognize me?”

“Of course?”

“Tell me your name.”

Eva took a moment. “Eva… Ashryver. First of my name.” She blinked. “Can’t remember my middle name.” 

“You don’t _have_ a middle name.”

“Ah,” she drawled. “That’s good then.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Not a clue.”

“You’re in Hollin and Evangeline’s home in Meah,” Asterin said. “We got you out of the town and brought you here immediately. Thank fuck no one saw what you did to that bastard.” The witch sighed. “How do you feel?”

Eva paused again. Hazy memories came back to her, but she felt very much unbothered by any of it. A thought came to her, though, “Did I lose my arm? I can’t feel much of anything.”

“No.”

“Good,” she nodded. “I’m not yet ambidextrous. Still have a lot… to practice.”

Eva turned her head to the side, grimacing at how stiff her neck felt. Perhaps this was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to her pain. When the meds wore off… she didn’t want to think about it. Not as she caught sight of a sleeping Ragnar.

Every question she had for Asterin evaporated. Everything erased from her mate.

Her mate’s wrist was bandaged.

But no blood stained him.

He was snoring so softly. Eva could hear his steady heart.

A wave of relief smoothed over her pains, and Eva dared a smile.

Asterin whispered, “Do you know how fucking scared I was?”

Eva slowly turned to the witch.

Even blinking took an effort.

The witch swallowed hard, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was on my way to the Witch Kingdom when I get your- Ragnar’s note, and then you… you jump off a wyvern and shift mid-air?!”

Eva smiled slightly. “That was pretty cool, uh?”

Asterin looked ready for murder. “Do you know that you could have been stuck in that form forever? Do you know that you could have been too exhausted to shift at all and you would have been splattered on the ground? Do you know what you’ve done, Eva?”

“I ended a fucking war, that’s what I fucking did.”

“You put yourself in danger,” Asterin grunted. “Listen, I know you just woke up. But you – you’re never doing that to me again, do you hear me? War or no war, next time you decide to almost kill yourself in front of me, I will drag you by your hair and feed you to the volcanos of-”

“Death by fire is not the worst way for me to go,” Eva mused. “At least I’ll go warm.”

Asterin’s puffed up cheeks were a good sign that Eva should probably shut up.

The shifter sighed. “I’m sorry, Az. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry that you had to turn back around to save your asses, and I will be forever indebted to you. But I won’t apologize for chasing that weasel.”

“The prisoners are in Adarlan, by the way,” Asterin said, looking more annoyed than before. “And that was a lousy apology.”

“I know,” Eva said. “Cut me some slack.”

“Yeah,” Asterin muttered, shoulders tense. Her eyes turned to Ragnar, then. “He never left; you know. I had to almost physically remove him from that chair so he’d bathe and eat. You’ve been out the whole night and the whole day.” A small smile made its way to Asterin’s mouth. “There was a point where I thought him and I would come to blows. He got on his territorial bastard mode and wouldn’t let anyone near you, and I had to show off the teeth.”

Eva turned her eyes to Ragnar then.

Her mate.

Her beautiful, traitorous mate.

“Don’t hate him for calling for me,” Asterin said, much softer this time. “He was just protecting you.”

“Yeah,” Eva whispered. “That’s what he does.”

“He was in pretty bad shape, Evie,” Asterin murmured. “All of us were.”

“I’m sorry,” Eva said. “You can beat me up when I am not in so much pain.”

Asterin scoffed. “It’s what you deserve.”

“Yeah.”

Asterin sighed softly. “I am on my way to report to my mother. Vanserra is in chains, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t more of him out there, doing his bidding. Be careful, please.” A pause. “My second will stay behind to take you both to Terrasen tomorrow.”

“Andrik and Ferran still in Perranth?”

“Yes,” Asterin nodded. “I think my sister’s there with them. Well – with _Andrik_.”

Eva paused. “I think Ragnar might want to join them. He spoke about it before we left – that he felt useless in Terrasen, and wanted to do some good in Perranth. He misses home.”

Asterin paused. “Will you go with him?”

“If he wants me to.” Eva sighed, closing her eyes. “Did you know he’s my mate, Az?” Eva’s eyes searched Ragnar’s face as she spoke. “Did you know I still haven’t gotten the courage to tell him? I could have died, and he would’ve never known.”

When Eva turned to look at Asterin, the witch was blinking back tears. “I suspected as much,” she smiled slightly. “Tell him.”

“Yeah,” Eva said softly. “I need to.”

Asterin touched her hand. “Be safe without me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Eva murmured. Before Asterin could pull her hand away, Eva squeezed it, making her halt. “You should stop by Orynth. Andrea’s worried for you.”

Asterin’s lips parted. But there came no answer.

Eva let go. “I think you might love her.”

“Did your near-death experience make you a love guru all of a sudden?” Asterin frowned, but there was a glint in her eyes. “Rest, you idiot. Get better.”

“I love you,” Eva said, watching her go.

Asterin gave her the finger, but Eva didn’t miss the witch’s smile as she closed the door.

As feeling slowly returned to her limbs, the pain became almost unbearable.

Eva breathed hard, sweat gathering on her forehead.

But she still moved.

Her arm felt like it had been ripped open, and Eva refrained from touching the bandage to take a look – better not frighten herself right now. Her hazy vision focused on Ragnar.

Slowly, so, so slowly, Eva climbed over his chair, and nuzzled against his side, resting her cheek against his chest. He smiled like fresh clothes and lemon soap, and she’s never loved him more.

He stirred, but kept sleeping.

He must have been exhausted – to sleep like this. Ragnar was always alert. During the various nights when she’d had him sleeping next to her, Eva always got the impression that Ragnar never slept deeply – never allowed himself to. But now-

Eva slowly closed her eyes.

And in her mate’s arms, she slept, and dreamt of cottages and lemon trees.

***

“ _Princess_?” Aidan drawled.

Laelia smiled at the way the vowels sounded from him. All high and melodic. Truth be told, the youngest Princess had chatted with this male for less than two minutes, and already there was something in him that she liked. Perhaps it had something to do with his incredible frown. Honestly, she had never seen one quite like that – not even Eva’s frown could surpass his.

“I don’t know your name yet,” Laelia pointed out, looking at the winged male up and down.

The male paused, considered her, then said, “Aidan.”

“Hello, Aidan,” Laelia smiled. Then her eyes finally turned to the small figure standing behind Aidan, trying to peek over his shoulder rather unsuccessfully. “Hello.”

Then Laelia blinked. Sniffed the air once. “Are you glamouring her?”

Aidan straightened. “It’s the only way for her to understand you and for you to understand her.”

“Why is she hiding?” Laelia grinned. “Wrong question: Why are you hiding her?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “We might be family one day.”

Aidan paused, staring at her weirdly. Until the girl stepped from behind him, standing closely by his side, holding on to his arm. Laelia narrowed her eyes, understanding exactly what was going on.

“Ah,” Laelia said. “Your mates. Of course, now I get it.”

“How did you manage…?” Aidan seemed at a loss for words. “What are you…?”

“Let me explain,” Laelia said. “There’s a portal in our world – my friend, Eldon, he-”

“You just… crossed the portal?”

Laelia paused. “Uh… yes.”

“Without damage?”

“I seem to have all my limbs,” Laelia said, but checked anyway.

Aidan blinked several times. “Wait… what the fuck, what the fuck…”

“Aidan?” The girl – human, by the looks and smell of her – said. She looked quite agitated to see her mate agitated. Everyone was a little too agitated for Laelia’s liking.

“I knew this was a possibility,” Aidan murmured to her. “I mean… the way we’re connected to your world, our world can be connected do theirs.” Cue in a very rude finger pointing towards Laelia’s chest. “But Velaris is guarded-”

“Velaris?” Laelia exclaimed. “Oh, good, I’m in the right place, then.”

Aidan’s neck snapped to her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Laelia paused, breathing in. “Yeah… I got that from, you know, you barring your teeth at me and all.”

Aidan didn’t apologize for it.

Hum.

“No one knows I came,” Laelia said softly. “I’m not here to put you, your world, or your mate in danger. I speak the truth: Luna is my family. I’m here because I seek peace.”

“Peace,” Aidan repeated.

She nodded. “It’s a long story, I-”

At the same time, both Laelia and Aidan snapped their gazes to the skies, before the girl could even know what was about to happen, three tall figures landed on the edge of the mountain, curved swords on their hands and great wings marred with scars. Three males sneering at them, their sharp teeth snapping.

Immediately, Aidan’s warning growl came. He placed the girl behind him again, as she tried to stifle a gasp at the sight.

Laelia slowly unsheathed her sword, and gave Aidan – and his wings – a side-eyed glance. “Any chance they’re your friends?”

Aidan didn’t look at her. “No,” he snarled. “They’re not my friends.”

***

Oren stared at that letter for forever.

For longer than he should have.

He reread the words countless times, kept them locked inside his chest, and let them slowly peel away the anger the conversation with his father brought up.

_And to give your beautiful words back to you – When we are reunited, I will see you with flowers. In the meantime, I will dream of a lifetime of flowers with you, my heart._

Oren folded the letter gently, breathing in once.

Gods, he missed her.

And he missed the times they were still yet to have.

He missed the chance to properly court her. To learn all her smiles, to know what made her cry. He missed the missed opportunities, the stolen moments of sweet beginnings they never got to have.

**_Will_** _still get to have_ , he told himself firmly. He’d be damned if he allowed Vanserra to destroy what might be left of them both.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice a girl watching him.

Her bouncy hair fell forward as she smiled with a curt nod. Her dark eyes followed him as Oren climbed the rest of the garden stairs into the palace.

“Must have been one good letter,” the girl said, with a voice of a singing bird. Her dress was so bright and full of colour, and so was her gentle smile. “Hello, Oren,” she said, grinning wide, holding out a hand. “I’m your little sister, Thalia.”

Before Oren could shake her hand, a voice sounded from behind her, drawling, “Thalia, don’t harass our brother. He’s just only arrived.”

The male in question had a shier smile, but an ease in his walk as he approached them both. He looked almost identical to Thalia, only the way his eyes glinted was different – there was a much more quiet, soothing aura about him, and while his sister was full of loud sunshine, Oren guessed that this male was more like the quiet moonlight.

Oren shook Thalia’s hand, a little overwhelmed. “I’m not harassing him, Callum,” Thalia said defensively, throwing her brother a sharp glance. “I’m making him feel welcome, which our father has failed to do.”

“Shocker,” Callum drawled, and then smiled at Oren sympathetically.

“You heard that?” Oren murmured.

“Well,” Thalia smiled sheepishly, shrugging slightly.

“Hello, Oren,” Callum said, and when Oren reached out to shake his hand, he noticed Callum’s fingers were stained with charcoal. “Sorry about… everything. We can only imagine how lost you’re feeling.”

“Do you like sweets?” Thalia chimed in.

Her brother shot her an amused smile.

Oren breathed a laugh. “As a matter-of-fact, I do.”

“Great!” Thalia exclaimed, and promptly wrapped her arm around Oren’s. “Come with us to the parlour, I was just calling for tea.”

Oren would rather be impaled than deny his new, very enthusiastic sister anything. So, taking a deep breath, managing a real smile, Oren allowed himself to be dragged off.

***

Watching them together, Oren had a very vague sense of familiarity, much like he had with Enda, despite never having met any of them before. The ease with which they welcomed him stunned Oren to no end, not because he didn’t expect them to be endlessly kind, since they were raised by Enda himself, but because Oren still expected there to be an enourmous wall between him and this new family, since they had grown up in completely different worlds. But as his brother served him tea, as his sister laughed charmingly at Oren’s rather self-deprecating descriptions of himself, he felt as if those two had tore down that wall the minute Thalia had spoken to him.

Perhaps a small part of him had expected them to have inherited some of their father’s cruelty. Since he’d known about Arwel, Oren had carried that fear around wherever he went, making him question himself constantly, wondering…

Wondering if he, too, carried that cruelty deep within.

“… forever, but we only know things Enda has told us,” Thalia was saying. Oren was vaguely amused at how good she was at speaking and drinking, plus eating, at the same time. It was a skill he desperately wished he had. “So, we’re really happy to finally know you.”

Callum laughed under his breath. “Honestly, Thalia hasn’t been able to shut up about you for one second since we found out you’d arrived.”

Thalia and Callum were as different to Oren as water was to fire. He guessed they’d taken after their mothers, rather than copying their father’s face. Both of them were kind enough not to ogle at him like everyone else in the castle, and if they thought Oren was a startling reflection of their father, they did not comment on it.

It was a small kindness.

“I’m sorry to meet you so late,” Oren said, meaning every word.

“It’s never too late,” Callum said.

“He likes to say that a lot,” Thalia muttered. “But it’s true.” Then she paused, her smile faltering. “We know vaguely of what happened to you back in Terrasen. We’re very sorry, Oren. And we’re very glad you’re okay.”

Oren knew – she, too, meant every word.

“Thank you,” Oren said. “We’re just trying to put it behind us.”

Us.

Again, that ache inside his chest- 

“Your mate,” Callum murmured, sipping his tea. “She was there with you.”

“She saved my life,” Oren said.

“That’s so romantic,” Thalia whispered. Then blinked. “Not what happened, I mean. That came out completely wrong, I’m very sorry.”

Oren, surprising himself, let out a laugh. He shook his head, “No, I know what you mean.”

“Are you happy, Oren?” She smiled.

Oren sighed softly. “I am. You know, perhaps it may seem… strange to say so, after everything that happened. But I am. If I had never gone to Terrasen, maybe I would have never crossed paths with my mate. And I would have never known about you two.” Oren managed a smile and, once again, he was pleased to feel that it was genuine.

“Sometimes the pain is worth it,” Thalia mused quietly, placing her hands delicately on her lap. “If it weren’t for my past, I would have never ended up here. I never would have met my partner in crime.” She elbowed Callum then, and he feigned a very grumpy face, which both Oren and Thalia laughed at. “But I know what you mean, Oren,” Thalia continued after a moment. “It sucks having a loser of a father, and it sucks that he didn’t do anything right by any of us.” She frowned. “And what happened to you sucks even more, and especially what is happening to demi-Fae and shifters.” Oren could see how her mood soured then, how every bit of his bubbly sister turned cold.

Callum explained, “Thalia is engaged to a demi-Fae, you see. It would have been personal either way, but it hits close to home.”

“She’s had to deal with a lot,” Thalia nodded, lowering her eyes. “I can never begin to know… but I wish to protect her, with all my heart. Just like I wish to protect all of those Viktor Vanserra has harmed.”

“So Enda told you both.”

Callum nodded. “We were aware when Enda left for Terrasen that things were bad. We just didn’t know _how_ bad.”

“But we want to know,” Thalia said, looking up at her brother. “We want to help. So if there’s something we can do, Oren, somewhere where we could be useful…”

Oren smiled gently, and shook his head. “I think the situation is out of our hands now.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Callum.

“The Princess of Terrasen, the daughter of the Lady of Caraverre, went to catch Viktor Vanserra on her own.”

Thalia blinked. “But she’s a shifter,” she whispered. “She’s the one he’s targeting.”

“It’s suicide,” said Callum.

“I haven’t received any news,” Oren murmured thoughtfully. “But I know that Eva Ashryver has the strength to find him. I’m just afraid that Viktor Vanserra pulls something we have yet to predict.”

And with that, instinctively, his hand shoots to his pocket, where Oren kept Atarah’s letter safely guarded. His only relief in all of this was that his mate was safe.

Thalia watched that movement with a thoughtful gaze. After a pause, she smiled at Oren. “How do you feel about seeing your mate again?”

Oren looked up at his sister, cocking his head to the side at the smirk now playing on her lips. Callum did the exact same.

“Let’s go to Terrasen,” Thalia clapped once. “Present ourselves to the Queen, and offer our help. We’re family, after all.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Callum began to say.

But Oren beat him to it, smiling a little at her fervour. “Atarah is from Suria.”

“Well, even better!” Thalia exclaimed. “We can stop by the coast. It’s the closest port, too. Then we journey north.”

Oren breathed in, fighting the little exciting shivers electrifying his veins. The thought of seeing his mate again, introduce her to his two siblings-

Callum touched his sister’s arm gently. “What about Raya?”

“Have you ever seen Raya balk away from an adventure?” Thalia said.

“She fell in love with you,” Callum shot back. “That’s the biggest adventure she’s ever going to have-”

“I’ll take that as the compliment it was surely meant to be, brother,” Thalia said a little friskily, flipping her light blond hair off her shoulder. “I’m fairly certain she’ll come with. I know she’ll adore the travelling, and besides-“ Her face became much more serious then. “She will also want to help, Callum. We’ve all been stuck here, not knowing what to do. Oren knows much more than anyone else.” Thalia turned to him. “Oren, this is your choice.” Her smile was nothing but kindness. “What do you think?”

Oren could only smile back. “How will we get there?”

Thalia gave her two brothers a look full of mischief. “We’ll be using our father’s only gift to us.” She smirked. “We’ll be flying, of course.”

***

_You have not danced since you murdered another person._

The thought occurred to her in the middle of the night, as Atarah lay awake, _again_ , looking out the window at the vast sea. She tucked her cold feet into the chair’s cushion, wrapping her arms around her legs. That house felt too big, too empty, even with her family downstairs. She felt so empty.

She couldn’t stop replaying the image of Hylas’ eyes fluttering shut for the last time.

_Let it go. It’s over._

But she couldn’t let it go. Not when she had been the reason for another person’s death.

Goddess above.

She couldn’t erase the feeling of Hylas’ throat beneath her fingertips. She couldn’t shake off the memory of Hylas giving up so easily, not even giving that much fight as she cut the air from his lungs, until the poison from the bars had wrapped around his heart like poisoned thorns. Like he’d wanted to die. Like he’d wished for nothing else but to be ended, and was almost glad she was the one doing it.

It made it all so much worse.

Sometimes, Atarah was overwhelmed at how cruel this world could be.

She looked out the window, and pictured every abandoned animal, every broken heart, every person that had ever felt betrayed, every terrible soul so tainted with hatred, every innocent person that lost their lives when their only crime had been to be born different. Every demi-Fae, every shifter, every human who had to endure worst cruelties than she ever had in that cell-

How many people had died in that cell?

How many footsteps had she echoed?

Sometimes, it was all a little too much.

To want to change the world and be too small to do it.

To want to be the hero and realize that heroes don’t kill people, even to save themselves.

Rational thought left through the door.

And Atarah felt herself fall down, down, down that spiral, again, again, and again.

_You have not danced since you murdered another person._

***

Her maid Ana met her the next morning in the gardens, with a worried face and a bowl of fruit that Atarah sneered at.

“You have to eat, my darling,” Ana whispered.

“I can’t.” When Ana sat down next to her on the bench, Atarah asked softly, “Any news from Terrasen?”

“I’m afraid not.”

A pause. “Any letters?”

Ana’s silence was enough of an answer.

Atarah should have heard from Oren by now. Would he be in danger?

_No_ , she told herself. And again, because the thought was too much to bear. _No_.

Perhaps-

Perhaps it was on purpose.

Perhaps…

_No_. _The letter might not have been delivered. There’s a good excuse._

Her mind tutted.

Or…

Or he had received the letter.

And hadn’t known what to say to her.

***

This was not how this day was supposed to go.

Those men – males – stared down at Aidan like he was nothing but a bug to be squashed. Which, if you must know, was not a good way to look at him – not from María’s perspective. Mind you, she was not a violent person, and those swords really did look threatening. But if they dared to touch a hair on Aidan’s head, she would show each of those winged bastards her right fist.

Perhaps Aidan could feel her agitation, for he placed a hand over her arm to still her. This whole business of being pushed behind him was absurd and a little embarrassing.

And what was up with the new chick?

For some reason, María’s instinct told her not to be scared of the Princess with the strange accent. If she’d wanted to harm Aidan – and herself – she would have already done so. But instead, Laelia had placed herself right beside Aidan, and had faced those males with the arrogance of a woman – female – of her station.

María grimaced. Calling these people _males_ and _females_ was a little weird, to say the least.

_Focus. These dudes want to chop your potential boyfriend up._

“What seems to be the matter?” Aidan spat out.

María’s back straightened at that tone. She’d never heard him speak in such a way, with such violence coating his words. The Illyrians scoffed at him – it seemed that any authority Aidan might have had for being the High Lord’s son got lost the moment he was found alone.

“The problem, Lordling, is that you’re frolicking in the middle of a _sacred mountain_ , with outsiders.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Thankfully, Laelia was smart enough to keep her mouth shut and her evident foreign accent away. For that brief second, María wondered how different Laelia’s tongue sounded to Aidan’s. She couldn’t know for sure – to her, Laelia just spoke broken Spanish. She knew, however, that if Aidan was working his glamour on her, that the male’s words would have sounded much more threatening if she hadn’t understood them.

“Ah,” Aidan said then. “Who told you they were outsiders?”

“Look at them,” the male in the middle said.

The tallest one added, “And look at that one.” María’s blood went cold when the male pointed at her. “Stinks of human.” 

_Stinks_?

_The bastard-_

Aidan gritted his teeth – she actually _heard_ it.

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy-

“You never saw a human?” Aidan spat. “They roam around, occasionally.”

“Not that kind of human.”

Oh, God. So it was that clear that she was not like the humans from this world? What was it, her hair?

“And that one,” the last one of the males, the bulkiest one, the one with the curved sword, smirked at Laelia, “I can tell she’s not from here.”

“Take your gang somewhere else,” Aidan said, his tone leaning towards aggressiveness. “Go back to your clan before I have words with your chief.” A pause. “ _Now_.”

“Will you report to Daddy dearest, is that it?”

“I might gut you on the spot and make an offer to the old gods right where I stand,” Aidan said easily. María heard a smile on his voice, and shivered. He gestured toward the three males. “Plenty of blood to go around.”

_Aidan, for fuck’s sake_ , she wanted to say, _Don’t lose your temper, don’t lose your temper, don’t-_

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Lordling,” the middle one said. “You’ll get your bony self out of our mountains, and perhaps you can let the human girl stay. _She_ would be a nice offering to the gods.”

_Oh._

Her knees felt very weak.

Especially as she felt Aidan’s wings tense beside her.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck-_

Laelia met María’s eyes. Discreetly, she made a gesture with her head, as if to say, _Come here._

María hesitated, looking back at Aidan’s tense wings.

At his closed fists.

Laelia did it again.

And this time, María didn’t hesitate in stepping closer to the Princess, until she was completely hidden from view, and completely out of the way should a fight break out.

Which surely would, any second now.

“ _I’m_ Illyrian,” Aidan growled. “I have as much right to be here as you do.” When the others laughed, he took a step forward, and they stopped laughing. María tensed. “And that’s my _mate_ , fuckface.”

Laelia let out a soft breath. “Shit,” she whispered, her sword arm at the ready.

Then everyone moved at once, so fast that María barely saw them.

A flutter of wings and swords.

María stepped back, almost tripping on the rocks, and watched with horror as the bulkiest Illyrian advanced towards her, while Aidan and Laelia fought against the other two. In a flash, María saw Aidan’s wide eyes turn to her, but that distracted him, and the Illyrian pushed him to the ground.

“AIDAN!”

María focused on the male approaching her as he laughed out loud. There was not much between her and the edge of the mountain. If she took another five steps, the only way to escape was down. The male’s wings rose threateningly, and María held her breath as he laughed and said, “Your pathetic Lordling is no Illyrian.”

Just as he said this, his friend was sent flying in a flutter of dark wings. María and the male watched as his friend rolled down the mountain. Aidan lifted himself up, wiping his bloody mouth, and before he could throw the male in front of his mate off the mountain too, María’s brain echoed those words, _Your pathetic Lordling._

There was no rational thought that could stop her.

Her body moved without her telling it to.

And then María was raising her fist, and punching the male in the nose so hard that something cracked.

Actually, two things cracked: his nose, and her wrist.

Not expecting this, the male stumbled to the ground, eyes wide.

“ _You’re_ pathetic,” she shot back, holding on to her wrist. The adrenaline was making it so nothing hurt, and the shock might be pumping her heart right now, but she knew that it was bad. She couldn’t move her hand at all. Still, she repeated, “ _Fuckface_.”

Aidan actually halted in absolute shock behind in front of her.

For just half-a-second, though.

Then he moved toward her, as Laelia struck down with her sword-

But María was scooped up, in his arms, and he shot up, high, into the air, without being given a chance to say a word.

She looked up over Aidan’s shoulder, and saw Laelia being scooped up, too-

But-

The wind pushed her hair in front of her eyes, but she heard Aidan mutter something. She struggled to hear, and only held on to his shoulders with a death-grip, digging her nails into his clothes. Well, the nails of her _working_ hand, that is.

Heart beating in her throat, María only noticed that they had changed courses when the wind hit her on a different angle, pushing her hair away from her eyes. Two females flew beside Aidan – one with short hair, and one with the same baby blue eyes as Aidan, holding on to a whimpering Laelia in her arms.

Before she could ask, they made their descent. 

She held on tighter to him, wondering which town house this was.

It appeared that every house in Velaris had a convenient balcony for winged Illyrians. And this town house was no exception. Aidan placed her down carefully, and over his shoulder, she saw Laelia look very green. The female who held her, with the slight frown and blue eyes, stared at her with a sneer. The other, already folding her wings, with short, curly hair, and tattoos down her arms looked much more concerned.

“Well, then,” the first female said, shooting Aidan a look. “Explain.”

María kept holding on to her wrist, as it was beginning to hurt. But she couldn’t take her eyes off any of them. Aidan was beautiful, and the females that had arrived, they were just as beautiful. They reminded her of those beautiful plans that ate innocent little butterflies if they got too close.

María didn’t gravitate any closer.

“Well,” Aidan said, a little breathless, running his fingers through his hair. “I…”

Laelia leaned against the balcony railing, heaving slightly. She’d left behind her sword.

The female looked Aidan up and down. She looked vaguely familiar to María. There was something in those eyes-

Aidan turned to her, then, ignoring them all. He touched her arm gently, examining her hand. He parted his lips, furrowing his brows, as she said, “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” Aidan breathed, like she’d said something preposterous.

“Good thing we were around, uh?” Blue-eyed, vaguely threatening female said. Her eyes, full of severity, turned to María. “Let me guess.”

Before María could reply, another figure came walking out of the balcony.

Aidan stiffened. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“This is _my_ house,” the female reminded Aidan. “He’s allowed to be here.”

The male was tall, the tallest person she’d ever seen. His shockingly clear blue eyes narrowed down as Aidan turned his gaze back and forth between the female and the new male. His dark hair was cut short, giving his devilishly handsome face a lot of angles. Those cheekbones could potentially work better than a blade. No wings, though.

“And why is Zelos in your house?” Aidan inquired, looking at the male up and down, though speaking to the female.

“Naza,” the male – Zelos – said, watching Aidan the same way. “Tell your cousin to stop being an absolute brat and get his nose out of my business, or I will have to castrate him.”

Aidan smiled.

María’s bones chilled again.

“Is your pissing contest over?” Naza asked. “Your friend over there is throwing up her guts and the human has a broken wrist and smells of fear, plus I have to go back and report those three bastards to the clan chief, so… are we dealing with this or not?”

_The human?_

“You do realize I’m right here, right?” María said before she thought better of it. Heck with it. She was done being spoken about as if she was invisible.

Aidan’s smile turned soft as he looked down at her.

Naza raised her brows at her, but a smile slowly played on her features. It transformed her entire face. “Oh, I like her already.”

“Who’s that?” Zelos said, pointing at poor Laelia, still on the verge of fainting. “That’s what I’m curious to know.”

Aidan sighed. “Princess of Terrasen.”

“So it’s true,” Zelos said. “What Seren has been saying all along. There are portals. Are they all going to start coming here _uninvited_?”

Laelia threw him a dirty look over her shoulder. Even the other female frowned at him.

María wasn’t quite sure she liked him.

“We’re not talking about this now,” Aidan said pointedly. Then turned to her, “We’ve got to heal your-“

“And this little thing?” Zelos said, cocking his head to the side, amused gaze turned to her.

Aidan narrowed his eyes. He worked his jaw, seeming to remind himself to breathe in, and breathe out.

“Actually,” María said, not enjoying this “human talk” that much. Her good hand was placed on her hip as she faced Zelos straight on. “I’m his _mate_.”


	26. Chapter 26

_A few hours earlier…_

No one knows for certain why a line had been drawn between two worlds that had once been one and the same.

No one knows what drove the gods to separate two peoples.

It is not even known if it was the gods themselves, or another force of the universe.

Perhaps it was neither.

Maybe-

Maybe it was the people.

But what would they gain, running from each other? _Why_ were they running from each other?

Sleep did not find Eldon until the early hours of morning, and even then, when darkness finally came to claim him, feverish nightmares plagued him, chased him, mortified him. Blood and gore, fires being set over forests, bleak gazes and angry words fumbled together in a cloud of hatred and fear, endless pyres lining up the edge of the woodland, clouds of grey up above that did not carry rain, but smoke, families separated, lovers mourning, children murdered, old beliefs running through the older veins of those who remembered.

His twin was shaking him awake.

“Close it,” Eldon whispered.

Howlan looked down at his brother with his heart splitting open. He’d been trying to wake Eldon for the past half-hour, and all that he’d gotten were strange, mumbled words in a language neither of them had ever learned. A language that, to Howlan, had never existed.

Then those two words – _Close it_. In their own language, as his brother’s eyes fluttered open, the urgency on his tongue making Howlan step back, the sweat on his brother’s forehead worrying him.

“Hey,” Howlan said, gently placing a hand on Eldon’s shoulder. “You alright? It’s almost midday. Mother is calling you to come eat something.” Howlan watched as Eldon slowly sat on the bed, his dark eyes darker than anything Howlan had ever seen. “Eldon…?”

“Yes,” Eldon muttered, wiping a hand over his eyes, his nightshirt clinging to him. “Yes, of course.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, slowly rising. “I just didn’t sleep.”

Howlan kept his eyes on his brother as he gathered his clothes. “Eldon, what the fuck were you saying?”

Eldon halted. “What?”

“You spoke in your sleep,” Howlan said quietly. “A string of words in a language that I’m certain doesn’t exist. What was that?” He didn’t wait for an answer: “You need to let go of those tomes.” And gave the dusty books on Eldon’s nightstand a pointed glance.

Eldon washed his face clean, dipping his hands on the glass bowl the maids had kindly left for him. Had they thought anything of Eldon’s restlessness? No time to wonder about it.

“Burn them,” Howlan said.

“ _Burn_ them?” Eldon laughed uneasily. “They’re older than this world. Like a million years’ old. More. I have to wear gloves to touch the pages or they disintegrate. They’re ancient, and thus valuable. I can’t burn them.”

Howlan frowned at the tone his brother used. As if what he’d said had been almost blasphemous to his twin’s ears. “I’m serious,” Howlan continued. “Studying the connection to these worlds… it’s driving you mad. Look at you. You’ve not slept for days.”

“Eva has been gone for two days,” Eldon said. “Of course, I’m not sleeping. And Laelia-”

Eldon bit his tongue.

“Laelia?” Howlan asked. “Oh, _fuck_. Eldon, what did she do?”

Eldon paused, then slowly put his trousers on in silence.

“What did _you_ do?” Howlan said.

“I don’t want you to get involved,” Eldon said. “So if you want to have a clean conscience, just don’t ask.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Howlan spat, hands on his hips. “Goddess above, Eldon. Just tell me.”

Eldon bit his lip. “I’m not going to tell you that yestereve Laelia asked me to give her the map to what I believe is the portal to Prythian…” Eldon grimaced at the way Howlan widened his eyes. “Nor will I tell you that I agreed because she was quite adamant that she wasn’t going to leave me alone unless I gave in… and I’m not going to tell you that she left this morning… and that now I have to cover for her so that Aelin and Rowan don’t flip the fuck out.”

Howlan was silent for a long, long time.

Eldon braced himself.

And then it came.

His twin marched up to him, grabbed him by the collar, and shook him so hard Eldon felt his brain rattle inside his head.

“Are you mad?!” Howlan snarled in his face. “Fuck, Eldon.” He let go. “Mother and father have their eyes on you already, and you-”

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“Laelia hasn’t completed her training,” Howlan spat. “What if she doesn’t even find the fucking portal? What if she does find it and it doesn’t lead to Prythian, and it only leads her to a more dangerous world? What if she _dies_?”

Eldon worked his jaw. “Hell, give her a little credit, will you? The girl isn’t stupid. She’s actually quite strong, too.” Eldon muttered to himself: “Kicked my ass a couple of times in training, actually…” And then to his brother: “And give me a little credit. If I wasn’t sure that portal didn’t lead to Prythian, I would have never given her the map. It’s legit.”

“That same map led you to the mountain where one of Viktor Vanserra’s puppets tried to murder you in cold blood. Is that lost on you?” Howlan asked. “And where is your confirmation coming from? Those books that are giving you nightmares and making you speak in dead, random tongues?”

“… the books say it’s called _Old English_ , actually…” Eldon whispered. “And there’s many, many more tongues, from all over-”

Howlan looked beyond himself. “Brother, fix yourself. You will face mother and father with one of your best innocent smiles, do you hear me? Return those books,” Howlan continued, stomping his foot for emphasis. “Until Eva and Laelia return, safe, please, _please_ , Eldon, stop obsessing over the Old Worlds, whatever they might have been. It doesn’t matter. What matters is to have our family back together.”

Eldon worked his jaw, but said nothing.

Howlan turned around, walked to the door, and said over his shoulder, “I’ve always been by your side, brother. But I will not stand by you while I watch you destroy yourself.”

And with that, he was gone.

***

_Present_

Laelia had emptied her stomach a total of five times ever since they’d placed her feet down onto steady land.

Flying was not her thing.

You see, Asterin had offered to take her to the skies once, and ever since then, Laelia had been adamant that her feet should never, ever, leave the ground. _Ever_.

Now, she was sitting inside a townhouse, with strange winged people speaking with strange accents, and a human girl fronting a large male who, Laelia thought, had a nice nose to punch.

She was offered tea, and sat on a comfortable couch, and when her eyes finally managed to focus, Laelia finally looked at the female tending to her.

Her honey curls were cut short, framing her face and full cheeks covered with freckles. Her eyes were entrancing, one chestnut-coloured, the other much, much darker. When she smiled at Laelia, she felt peace.

“Welcome back,” the female said. “You looked a bit dazed for a second. I thought you’d faint.”

Her accent was thick and melodious, almost too difficult to understand, but Laelia was quick to put the pieces together. 

She was blushing uncontrollably.

This female had held her hair back as Laelia had barfed over the balcony.

It didn’t help that she was absolutely beautiful.

_Oh, no_ , Laelia thought to herself. _Oh, Goddess, drown me._

When Laelia found no answer to give, the female only smiled, cheerful, and patted her shoulder before moving off to stand near – what Laelia had learned – was her cousin, the one with long, dark hair and baby blue eyes and a hard-as-stone beautiful face. Naza was her name.

“Actually,” the human girl was saying – María. There were too many names for Laelia’s muddy brain to remember. “I’m his _mate_.”

Seren’s brother – what was his name? – _laughed_. Out loud. Just-

The taller male looked at him with a shocked frown – and it was like something out of a theatrical comedy, like the ones Laelia had watched as a youngling in the palace. She was briefly reminded of a drunken character reacting to having been told he needed to leave the bar _immediately_.

“Mate?” The male scoffed, composing himself. “A human, your mate?”

“Yeah,” Seren’s brother said, laughter gone, his tone lowering dangerously. “What about it, Zelos?”

“Aidan,” the human girl said.

_Ah_.

“Good luck,” Zelos said, not sounding nice at all. “That’s all I wish for you.”

Laelia understood what was implied. She’d seen it before.

To have a human mate meant… complications often arrived. Complications concerning their life-span, for example. Their fragility. Though the human girl looked more annoyed than frightened as she stared down at a male who was possibly two times her size and much stronger, as she held on to her broken wrist.

Laelia remembered how she’d punched one of the males who’d attacked them. Which reminded her-

“Wait,” Laelia said, her voice too small to be heard. But everyone’s eyes turned to her. She felt like shrinking. “ _Why_ were we attacked?” Her gaze drifted to Aidan.

Aidan worked his jaw. “There are some Illyrians that don’t take well to Full-Faes, like my father, my mother, and us. It’s a very small number. But they don’t believe we have earned our titles.”

_Illyrians?_

Where had she heard that word before, from Luna?

“But they would kill you for it?” Laelia murmured. “You and your mate?”

Aidan didn’t answer. His eyes flashed to the human girl in concern, and he was quick to lead her upstairs – probably to heal her wrist. Naza said after him, “I’ll get a healer.”

“Not needed,” Aidan muttered.

Then he was gone, the girl with him.

Zelos looked at Naza. “She doesn’t have his scent on her.”

Naza rolled her eyes, but it was the other female – the curly-haired, beautiful one, that said, in her sing-song voice, “Take into consideration that it might work differently for humans, Zelos. And stop being a dick.”

Naza raised her brows in admiration.

Zelos just looked like he’d been slapped. “Nora,” he smiled bitterly. “Remind yourself that humans from other worlds are barging into our territory like they own it. Humans, and whatever she is.” He pointed his chin at Laelia.

Before the Princess could reply, Nora said in her stead: “Hey, leave her be.”

It was surprisingly authoritarian – that voice. It shook Laelia slightly.

“Besides,” Nora said sweetly. “It’s _human_. Not _humans_. And it’s Aidan’s mate.”

“If she can get in, others can, too.”

Nora rolled her eyes – a similar gesture to her cousin’s. “To fear the unknown is to stop living, for most things are unknown to us.”

“Cute quote,” Zelos mocked.

“Got it from an actual book,” Nora smiled. “You should read one of those sometime.”

“Right,” Naza clapped her hands, interrupting them both. Then she turned her eyes to Laelia – they weren’t as harsh as when she’d carried Laelia out of the mountain. “Princess of Terrasen – Luna’s…?”

“Well, we consider each other family,” Laelia muttered quietly. “But we’re not blood-related.”

“Are you here to get her?” Naza asked.

“Get her?” Laelia said back. “No, she’s not-”

“Yes, she’s here,” Naza drawled. “Flew past Seren’s house and sensed her.” She grimaced slightly then, and Laelia didn’t know what it meant – didn’t dare to ask.

Luna was there at the same time Laelia was.

And it seemed that everyone knew about her.

“We haven’t met, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Naza said. “But, yes, we do know of her.”

“Oh.”

Zelos looked at Naza. “We have to get Rhys.”

Naza gave him a look, but then she turned her gaze back to Laelia. “Would you mind speaking with our High Lord and High Lady?”

The fact that she was willing to ask Laelia first meant a lot.

“No,” Laelia murmured. “No, that was actually what I was hoping to do.”

Suddenly, Naza smiled. It was a slight smile, full of mystery, but a smile nonetheless. Laelia wasn’t running away from questions, because she had no reason to. So Naza seemed happy to trust her.

“Well then, I suppose you don’t wish to fly again?” Naza raised a brow.

Laelia actually shivered. “No, thank you.”

Naza’s wings rose slightly. “I’ll get them, then.”

“I’ll come with,” said Zelos, looking grumpy for having been told off.

Naza looked at Nora expectantly. But Nora was looking at Laelia. It was only then that Laelia noticed her staring, and didn’t dare to meet the female’s enchanting eyes, finding the pattern of the rug under her feet very much interesting.

“I think I’ll stay,” Nora said. She smiled at Laelia. “Mind the company?”

“No,” Laelia said shyly.

Nora plopped down onto the couch, her green tunic reminding Laelia of the green jewels of-”

Suddenly, her blood went cold.

Laelia shut her eyes as she remembered that she’d left Damaris – the sword that Dorian gave to Aelin as a symbol of Adarlan’s friendship with Terrasen, _a literal symbol of peace between two lands_ , lying on the dirt of the mountain.

***

Getting dressed was a difficult task, since her mate kept trying to sink his teeth into her skin and she kept allowing his devious hands to remove her clothes time and time again.

But the sun was high in the skies, already, and Luna knew she needed to take her hands off him and behave herself, or the day would be lost and she would never get back home.

“Stay today,” he murmured into her neck, even as Luna finished putting on her dress. His fingers caressed the strings on the back, twisting them in a way that would make them undone in three seconds or less.

“Seren,” she warned, but her tone was mellow and loving, and she wanted to kiss his face so bad.

“I’ll beg if there’s a chance that you’ll consider it,” Seren said. “You said it yourself that you are still awaiting the arrival of your cousin.”

_Eva_.

“Hey,” Seren whispered at Luna’s change of mood. He touched her chin gently, his eyes no longer filled with desire – but with understanding, and slight worry. “I understand if you feel restless here.”

“I feel restless there, too,” Luna murmured. “There’s nothing I can do.” Luna smiled slightly, but a little sadly. “Even my father would prefer I stay here. He said as much.”

Seren paused. “I know it’s safer here, but if your mind can’t take it being away…”

Giving her the choice again.

Luna sighed, and touched his cheeks. “Will you keep the worry away, lover of mine?”

Seren smiled slightly, kissing the line of her hair. “I will try with all my might. Though I can’t erase it from your mind, perhaps I can ease it.” He touched her hand gently, kissed her knuckles. “She’s strong, your cousin. You’ve told me the stories, and I know she’ll come back to you all, safe and sound.”

“If you believe it,” Luna said softly. “Why shouldn’t I believe it, too?”

“Exactly,” he smiled, and kissed the tip of her nose.

Luna smiled as Seren leaned down to kiss her, and her body moulded to his right as his arms wrapped around her middle to pull her ever so close. As his lips touched hers, Seren gently brushed her hair back from her face, keeping his palms on her warm cheeks, and Luna’s mind turned to smoke.

It was a mistake to kiss him again.

Before she could detect it, Seren had her cornered between a wall, and Luna was very much loving having his arms on either side of her, just as much as she was wonderstruck by his mouth on her neck. He wrapped her legs around his waist, and Luna gasped when he pulled her up, her back brushing the wall, her hair falling over her eyes as she turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck.

“Seren,” she murmured.

“Luna, love?” He whispered against her ear, his hips shifting in a dangerous way, almost making her moan with how good that pressure felt against her.

“We can’t,” she said, half-laughing, half-dazed. “Not again.”

Seren paused, like he’d just only realized how tired they both were. He kissed her lips sweetly, before setting her down. “It will take us time to know when to keep our hands off each other.”

“Time,” she said, kissing his jaw, “and willingness.”

“Something you’re not helping with.”

Luna grinned. “I’m sorry,” and stepped back slightly. Her eyes darted to the windows. “Will you show me?”

“What?” Seren asked.

Luna looked up at him. “Velaris. Will you show it to me?”

Seren breathed a soft laugh. “How do you feel about flying?”

“With you?” Luna wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I feel just right.”

***

Oren’s stomach was home to a thousand butterflies.

Nervousness tore at him from the inside out – how could he be more nervous to see his mate again than he was to meet his bastard father?

He’d never understand his own mind.

Callum and Thalia met him very early the next morning. Much like Oren, they were early risers, but very much unlike Oren, they were _happy_ early-risers. Oren couldn’t get a word out of his mouth without at least two cups of coffee, but his siblings showed up in the gravel path leading to the entrance of the palace of Doranelle with a familiar smirk on their faces.

It took him a moment to realize he smiled like that, too.

They brought someone with them – someone who now held his sister’s hand. Raya, Oren remembered from their last conversation, was a scholar, and engaged to Thalia, and very much willing to go anywhere her love wanted to go.

Raya met him with the brightest smile Oren had ever been given, and when she shook his hand, he noticed the friendly, although deadly, grip. A scholar – and not someone to be messed with. But someone who clearly thought everyone a friend, until the moment they crossed her.

Thalia declared, “Behold, study enthusiastic and love of my life,” and gestured wildly towards Raya, who, in turn, breathed a laugh and smiled at him.

“Oren,” Raya said. “I’m very sorry to meet you in these circumstances. But glad to meet you nonetheless.”

Raya was a gentle contrast to Thalia. With dark curls framing her face and dropping down to the middle of her waist in a side ponytail, and very long, thick lashes that framed honey-coloured eyes, tan skin splattered with a million tiny freckles in her arms, neck and cheeks, she looked as different from Thalia as salt was to sugar. Oren didn’t fail to notice the round ears. Thalia did mention that Raya was demi-Fae.

Callum looked absolutely amused by the entire interaction.

“Thank you, Raya,” Oren said, squeezing her hand right back. “My sister has spoken about you.”

Raya smiled once more, a little shyly, giving her companion a slightly disapproving look, full of love. “She does that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Thalia shrugged. “I’m happy to do so. Any chance I get.”

“Darling,” Raya murmured. “Three days ago, you spent half an hour showing your ring to the local baker.”

Thalia looked unbothered. Callum grinned wider.

“So?” Thalia said. Her gaze travelled to Oren, and her smirk grew. She fake-whispered, “She gets all shy when I gush about her.”

Raya placed her hands on her hips. “It makes me very happy that you do, but there are more important things right now-”

“You’re equally important,” Thalia said charmingly.

Raya blinked, fought a smile, failed, then looked at Oren sheepishly. “Are we all ready?”

“Are you sure you wish to come with, Raya?” Callum said. “We don’t know what we might find in Terrasen.”

Raya simply said, “Hatred can come from everywhere, Callum. I’m not afraid. I’ve experienced enough here, in my own lands.” She shrugged. “Now, if you give me a moment…”

And then, right before his eyes, Raya _shifted_.

Her Fae form was almost completely the exact same as her human form, except for her ears. It was so quick, that Oren almost missed it. Raya blinked, took a steadying breath, then met Thalia’s eyes.

“I never get tired of seeing that,” Thalia breathed.

Raya’s cheeks turned pink.

“We’re still flying?” Oren asked.

“We are,” said Callum.

Oren looked at Raya, surprised, “So, Raya, you-”

“Oh, wait until you see her,” Thalia winked.

“I never met a demi-Fae who had an animal form,” Oren said, rather enthusiastically.

Raya smiled wide, clearly pleased by his interest. “It was a gift from my mother, I suppose.”

“Right, then, chatterboxes,” Callum grinned. “Let’s go to Terrasen.”

***

Three grey falcons soared the skies of Wendlyn, lifting their wings above the fluffy white clouds, seeing Terrasen’s mountains rising high in the horizon, beyond the sea.

Amongst them, an eagle kept them company. Her wings were broad and strong, and she could be seen drifting her predator eyes to one of the falcons from time to time, as if keeping careful watch.

It was an odd sight to be seen, those birds flying together.

But a beautiful one nonetheless.

***

Atarah reminded herself of three things:

One: there was no one in her manor actively trying to kill her.

Two: her nightmares were just that: nightmares. Eva was alive. So was Ragnar.

Three: Oren hadn’t deserted her; he was just preoccupied.

Some nights, that was the only thing keeping her sane – that last reminder. But when the nightmares came and she woke in sweats, nothing could make her believe that things would be okay. That she would be okay.

She jumped whenever people approached her.

Her ears strained to listen every sound, every step, every murmur.

Often times, she barged into her siblings’ chambers, just to make sure they were alive and well. They would often give her strange glances, but Atarah didn’t have the guts to explain it to them.

She scared herself often, too.

Atarah felt people trying to reach for her, but she didn’t know how to reach back. She was worried, constantly. For herself, and her family, for Eva and Ragnar, for Luna, for the Queen, for her country, for everyone who might be in danger.

It was so much worry that one night she woke to a bloody pillow.

Her mind had triggered all kinds of ugly images.

She wondered, for a moment, if someone had come into her room and dragged a blade through her neck.

But it’d just been another nosebleed.

_Stop worrying so much,_ she’d told herself firmly in the mirror of her bathing chamber, as she wiped her nose and lips clean. _Stop, you’re killing yourself before they get a chance to._

That morning had been strange.

Atarah didn’t remember waking up.

She didn’t remember eating.

She didn’t remember putting on her least favourite dress.

She tried to, as she stared at the window, at the gardens below, where her family gathered without her. Her siblings jumped over one another, and she wondered how they’d never broken any bones with their roughhousing.

A knock made her jump.

“Ana,” she said, when the familiar scent hit her. “Come in.”

“I’ve come to deliver your tea,” Ana said gently, slipping into her room with a tray.

“I didn’t ask for tea,” Atarah said softly, a little confused. “You shouldn’t have troubled yourself-”

“You’ve not eaten,” Ana said, her tone a little hard. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Atarah thanked her briefly, and promptly tried to ignore the sickly scent of camomile.

“Your mother has organized a ball,” Ana said, a little hesitantly.

Atarah froze, and didn’t turn around to face her maid in case she wouldn’t be able to school her features into submission. “Why.”

“To cheer you up,” Ana said. “She knows how much you adore dancing, and haven’t done so in a long time, and perhaps that would get you out of your shell a little, since-”

Atarah snapped her head to her maid. “A ball? Under these circumstances?”

Ana paused. “It’s more of a small gathering, child,” said Ana. She paused again, not knowing how to continue. “Just the few families of Suria are invited, you know, lords and ladies your age for you to mingle, and have a nice time.”

“I can’t have a nice time, Ana,” Atarah said. “Not with people’s life on the line. Eva is like family to me-”

“Child,” Ana said calmly. “I understand. But your parents mean well.”

Atarah straightened. Of course they meant well. Of course they were trying to bring her back to them, anyway they could.

She was being insufferable, she realized.

Her pain was causing everyone else pain.

“Don’t feel bad for feeling bad,” Ana said. “We all understand, my dear. Even if we don’t know the details of what you went through… we know why you don’t wish to speak of it. But if you need to-”

“Yes,” Atarah cut in stiffly. “I’ll… say something.”

Ana sighed softly. “Atarah.”

“I’m…” Atarah tried to lower her voice, to keep herself calm. But she wanted to lean her head against the cool glass of the window and sleep forever, “…fine.”

Ana was silent.

“When’s the ball?”

“Tonight.”

Atarah’s headache waved hello.

“Your mother’s coming here soon to tell you,” Ana said. “I thought I’d give you a heads up.”

“Thank you.”

“Dear?”

“Yes, Ana?”

Ana hesitated. “Perhaps you should tell them about Oren.”

“I know,” Atarah whispered. “Soon.”

When she had the guts for it.

Ana said, “You want to be alone?”

“Yes, please.”

“You know you don’t have to, though. You do know that, don’t you?”

Atarah paused. Did she know? She could pretend. “Yes. Thank you.”

Then her maid was gone.

The silence was deafening.

***

Her wrist felt like it had been smashed open by a very, very sharp and very, very hard rock.

And, oh, boy, the tears were coming, alright.

María kept them firmly out of Aidan’s sight, because she was proud, and, yes, she wanted to keep herself looking brave, which maybe was just making her pain so much worse, but well-

Aidan lead her to a bathing chamber that might have been the size of her bedroom at home. Everything was polished and so clean it almost hurt to look at the marble counters and floors. He sat her down on a nearby chair, and rummaged through the cabinets, muttering to himself. And despite her pain, despite the adrenaline slowly draining from her veins to be replaced by dizzying exhaustion, María’s mind buzzed with unprioritized questions and facts. Such as:

“I just met a small portion of your family,” she murmured. “And a real-life Princess. And I kept my sanity.”

Aidan looked at her. “You punched a grown Illyrian in the face and made him stumble, also.”

María paused, then nodded to herself. “I did.” A pause. “Shit, I did.”

Aidan was saying, “Naza used to keep bandages around here somewhere.” A pause. He looked restless, and quite beside himself. “Where are they…”

“Aidan.”

“María,” he said softly, closing and opening cabinets.

She looked down at her wrist, and grimaced when she saw the swelling. Purple skin coated her thumb. “Would those males have killed you?”

A pause. He looked at her. “Maybe,” he said. “I have no way of knowing.” He hesitated. “Illyrians are not… what you have seen today, María. They’re my people, and they are kind and hardworking, and they have protected Illyria centuries before I was born.” He shook his head. “The other courts have a way to twist tales. Illyrians are not a violent people.”

María watched him carefully. “I didn’t think that. Nor did I think that of you. Bad people exist anywhere and everywhere.”

Aidan didn’t answer as he squatted down to the last cabinet. There, he took out shimmering bottles of something green that looked like gelatine, bandages, and what looked like scissors.

“You said I didn’t need a healer,” she murmured as Aidan sat on the edge of the tub, facing her. “You know how to do this?” When Aidan nodded, she continued, “Lot of broken wrists?”

He grinned slightly. It was good to see him more light-hearted – like he wasn’t so afraid of frightening her anymore. Like he believed she could take the truth. “Wrists, legs, shoulders. My hip, once.”

She grimaced.

Aidan watched her carefully, and showed her his palm, waiting for her hand. María took in a deep breath, and extended her arm, placing the back of her hand against his palm. It hurt like hell. It was tender, and while she could still move parts of her wrist, it hurt too much to do so. Opening her hand for him made her hiss slightly, and Aidan was all too careful not to touch her yet.

“And also,” he continued, maybe to distract her, “I don’t trust a healer to touch you.”

“Why?” She asked under her breath.

“Healers here don’t tend to humans,” Aidan said. “They tend to Fae who heal easily.”

María watched him silently.

“May I?” He looked up.

She could only nod.

Aidan dragged the tips of his cold fingers over her wrist, feather-light. His gaze was far away, distracted, and her pulse increased so fast that it almost made her dizzy. He was too beautiful to be this close to her. And smelled too nice, she noticed.

He’d been in a fight, flown all the way here, _and_ he still smelled like roses.

_Damn him._

He turned his head this way and that, looking at the mess she made. Punching that male had felt like punching solid stone, so María was rather impressed that she hadn’t shattered her arm in three different places.

More impressed to have punched someone in the face in the first place, actually.

“What’s the verdict, doctor?” She tried to smile.

Aidan did smile. “Doctor?”

“Our healers are called doctors,” she said to him.

“Well,” he said to her. “I’m relieved to tell you that it’s in a good place to heal. I won’t have to reset it.”

María went slightly pale – and felt it, too, all her blood leaving her face. It wasn’t pleasant. “You would’ve had to reset it?” She paused, looking around. “I don’t suppose you’d have an anaesthetic?”

“A what?”

_Oh, hell._

“Nevermind,” she murmured.

“Are your fingers numb?”

“Not at all,” María said.

Aidan’s fingertips brushed hers and she shivered. Tried to pretend she hadn’t. Which was a failure, as you might imagine.

He smiled slightly at her. “Good. Blood’s flowing well.”

“I should know how to mend wrists,” she said. “It’s not really my area of expertise right now.” Aidan grabbed the bottles, and María looked up. “What’s that?”

“An ointment, to help ease the pain for a while,” he said. Then looked up. “Snake blood and all of that. The usual.”

María’s eyes stuck to that green gelatine-like concoction and her stomach turned. “Excuse me, what.” She said faintly.

Aidan laughed.

She widened her eyes. “Honestly?” She had a smile on her face, but she tried to fight it. “You’re the absolute worst, taking advantage of my limited knowledge of your world.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he smiled. Then leaned down and kissed her broken wrist, feather-light. His voice became tender, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“So you’re not going to tell me what’s in it?” María said.

“You don’t want to know either way,” Aidan said.

The smell was pungent and not like anything she’d ever smelled before. It was sharp, sort of… minty, and made her eyes water. 

“Okay,” she breathed. “Is it worse than snake blood?”

“Not worse than snake blood, love,” he assured.

“Yikes,” she said. “Okay, then.”

Aidan applied it with such measured movements that María thought he genuinely was concerned about hurting her. She wondered how much he had to measure his strength around her. She wondered if, if he wasn’t careful, he might shatter the rest of her wrist like she would squash a pea.

It didn’t frighten her, because she knew he’d never do it.

And yet the thought stayed in her mind, with all the other facts she’d learned over those last few days.

“What’s up with that guy?” She asked suddenly.

“Zelos?” Aidan asked calmly, applying the slimy ointment onto her skin. It took a long time for her skin to absorb it, but she felt a cool, pleasant sensation on the surface of her wrist. “Well, he’s just a dick.”

“Who is he?” María asked, having noticed that they weren’t related.

“He’s the son of my father’s second. Amren, is her name. She is like an aunt to us, and has been with my father’s Court way before I was born. But Zelos and the rest of us aren’t blood-related.”

“What does he have against humans?” She asked softly.

Aidan looked up. “He has nothing against you.” His tone was firm. “Zelos is afraid of anything he doesn’t understand. He’s protective. Which can be a quality until it becomes a clear flaw.”

“Naza is your cousin,” María said. “You told me of your aunts, Nesta and… Elain?” She waited for his nod. “Which one is Naza’s mother?”

“Nesta,” Aidan said. “And the other female you met – Nora, is Elain’s youngest daughter. She has an older sister named Astrid. And that’s pretty much most of us.”

María was silent for a long time, and Aidan didn’t fail to notice the tension on her shoulders.

Aidan paused, then looked up. “What is it?”

María hesitated. “I know I’m not staying for long, but,” she shrugged, “I would prefer if they liked me.”

“They _will_ like you.”

“Zelos didn’t.”

“Love, not to sound like a soppy, lovestruck male, but there’s nothing not to like about you,” he said. “And besides, Zelos doesn’t like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

He grabbed the bandages with expertise, and cut with strange wooden scissors that had razor blades only at the tip. Snap, snap, snap.

“He seemed to like Naza well enough.”

Aidan visibly shuddered. “Revelation of the year. Don’t ask – I don’t understand it, either. And I don’t think I want to.”

A pause.

“Does it bother you that I’m human?” She stared at the scissors, rather than facing him.

Aidan looked at her. “No.”

“I’m not like you, though.”

“I know,” Aidan softly said. “What about it?”

_Yes, what about it?_

“Does it bother you that I’m Fae?” He asked.

“It bothers me I can’t keep up with you,” she said. “Or fight like you.”

“María, you could put me on my ass,” Aidan said, absolutely serious. “Today proved it.”

She smiled, despite everything. But then: “I’m no match for you. Not in the way that counts.”

“Strength means nothing,” he said, frowning slightly.

“I’m not speaking about strength,” she said. Aidan lifted her wrist gently, and wrapped the bandage tightly. “What you feel… the mating bond… it might be something that I’ll never feel, nor truly understand. Are you alright with that?”

Aidan met her eyes. “No one loves the same way. I don’t expect you to grow to love me like I will. It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the strength of the bond between us. It doesn’t matter that you’re human. It matters that you’re you, and it’s you I want.” He shrugged. “Mating bond or not, I wanted you the first moment I saw you, and I knew then that I would grow to love you.”

He’d said it so simply. Like…

Like it might be easy.

To love him, and to be loved by him.

And perhaps it might.

“It’s alright to be frightened and doubtful sometimes,” Aidan said, as he continued to work, tightening her bandages. “My father always said the greatest things are the most frightening ones.”

María’s eyes followed him as he lowered his head, attentive to the bandages. He tied them quickly, gently, then put the bottles away. Her pain was slowly calming.

“I’ll take you back to the mountains,” he said softly. “My father might be on his way, and perhaps I should speak to him, then.”

María watched him rise, and put away the rest of the things. She held her wrist to her chest. Perhaps she wasn’t as prepared to leave as she thought. Why not take advantage of her presence here, when she had an excuse to be gone?

Aidan looked at her. “How do you feel?”

She looked up, awoken from her daydream by his soothing voice. “Better. Thank you – you’re a good healer.”

“Takes practice,” he said, shrugging. “And a lot of broken bones.”

They looked at each other, dreading the _see you later_ that was to come.

“You can meet them, if you wish,” Aidan murmured. “My parents. They know of you. It’d be alright if you… stayed. For a while.” He added, then: “With me.”

She smiled, because his smile was shy, and it was impossibly adorable that a male his size was now shifting his feet this way and that, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

He expected her to say no, she knew.

She surprised him by saying, “Alright.”

“Truly?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “If I show up at home with a broken wrist… well, I’m not good at lying. I can hide the truth about what you are, but if someone asks me how I broke my wrist the first thing I will blurt out is, _Punching a Fae in the face_.” She grinned. “That won’t go down well.”

Aidan’s eyes glinted as he smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, but then she saw his eyes focus, before he turned them to the window. He said, “They’re here.”

***

Ragnar Lochan had a weight on his chest in the form of Eva Ashryver, and he refused to move.

She slept soundly, her fever gone, her hands warm. Her head placed against his chest. Her bad arm hung comfortably by her side, her bandaged fingers lying on her lap. She was so small she fit in his arms just fine. Even sitting on an uncomfortable chair, Ragnar had never felt so comfortable.

He brushed his lips against her hair, his mind slowly waking from sleep. Eva shifted slightly, and he heard her intake of breath, before she opened her eyes.

Eva grunted slightly as she moved in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder. They looked at each other.

Her eyes were tinged with dark circles. She looked so, so pale. And yet-

She was alive. And in his arms. And smiling at him.

She was everything.

“Hello, Ashryver,” he whispered.

Eva searched his eyes, and her hand came up to her mouth. She was biting her nail, he noticed. Like she did when she was a bit nervous. He smiled.

“Are you going to be angry at me?” She asked.

Her voice broke his heart.

It sounded like she’d been screaming for years, even if her tone was light.

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me off?”

“No.”

“Tell me that I’m the craziest female the Gods have ever seen?”

“You already know that,” he said, “so no.”

“Are you going to lecture me?”

“No?”

“… spank me?”

Ragnar raised his brows. “You want me to spank you?”

“That’s a conversation for another time,” she muttered. Then her face turned serious. “You tricked me.”

“You tricked me, too.”

Eva sniffed. “Yeah.”

When she tried to bite her nail again, Ragnar gently pulled her wrist away, lacing his fingers through hers. So gentle. “Ashryver, the last thing I’m thinking about right now is punishing you.” He took her hand, kissed her bruised knuckles. “You’re awake, and in my arms, and that’s all that matters.” He sighed. “Besides, I wouldn’t dream of telling you off right now.”

Eva looked relieved, so say the least. “I’d kiss you,” she began to say, “but I had a bastard’s guts in my mouth not too long ago, and I have yet to brush my teeth.”

Ragnar gave out a strange, hysterical laugh, but then he said, “The casualness with which you said those words is baffling.” He shook his head. “He did deserve it, though. He tried to kill you.”

“Have you heard the news?”

Ragnar nodded. “Have you?”

“Asterin was here while you slept,” Eva said. “Besides calling me all kinds of wonderful names, she told me what happened.”

“There’s still a long way to go,” he said softly, playing with her fingers. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Eva said. “I do.”

Ragnar touched her chin. “Together?”

Eva nodded, and rested her tired head right back on her mate’s shoulder. “Yes. We’ll face it together.”

“Are you falling asleep, love?”

“Hmmm.”

He sighed softly, kissed the top of her head, and smiled. “Are you asleep now?”

She most likely was. Out in a second. Stumbling between consciousness and sleep. So, Ragnar said, “When are you going to tell me what we are?”

Sleeping Eva murmured, “Tomorrow.”

“Hmmm,” Ragnar whispered. “Is that it? Why not tell me now?”

“Squirrels.”

“Ah,” Ragnar smiled to himself, lips resting on her forehead. “Makes sense, love.”

He let her sleep, and held her, as he watched the sun slowly go down through the windows of her chambers. The vast ocean could be seen from where he sat. How vast might be all the oceans on this earth put together, he wondered?

That vastness would never surpass the amount of his love he had for his mate.

That he was sure of.

Ragnar kept smiling to himself. In his head, a secret plan formed.

He was going to have a lot to do once he reached Perranth.

***

She was bored.

And quite frankly, a little tired.

Almost four days had passed. And no answer from Oren. No replies from Orynth. If Eva had returned, Atarah had no way of knowing.

Her dress was the colour of blueberries. It had been the first one she’d grabbed. And when Ana had said _A small gathering_ …

Atarah’s definition of small was quite off, apparently.

She sipped a few fruity drinks, forced some pastries down, and talked to her family. But everything was a blur. Seeing so many people in one place… something felt wrong.

She didn’t know what.

Couldn’t put her finger on it.

_You’re making things up._

But what if she wasn’t?

Her family didn’t know what to say to her, how to comfort her. And Atarah didn’t blame them for it – they hadn’t been there, after all. How could they know how it had felt? Only-

Only Oren knew.

She Lady of Suria leaned against the wall. She spotted Suria’s messenger whispering something to her father, and when he was free, she almost tackled the male to the ground.

“Have you any news from Orynth?” She asked breathlessly.

The male blinked, looking slightly terrified, and said, “No, my Lady. None, I’m afraid.”

None.

So Eva had not yet returned.

Hadn’t she returned at all?

Ice gathered at the bottom of her stomach.

“Anything else?” She murmured.

“No, my Lady. Just got a message from your Lord father for Lord-”

She stopped listening.

It wasn’t ill-intentioned, mind you. Atarah was trying her hardest. But she zoned out easily. And when she was zoning out, she was trying her best to keep her focus, to no avail.

Such as now – someone had approached her.

She turned, abruptly, and was faced with a male who did not look familiar. His eyes were the colour of fine ink, and his cheeks were dotted with small scars, as if he’d been bitten by bees. She narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what he was saying, but all she could think of, _He’s not familiar looking._

“Pardon,” Atarah murmured. “What?”

“My Lady,” the male said, cocking his head to the side. “My little sister is just outside; she would like to have a word with you.”

Two things happened at once.

She felt a sudden awakening shiver drifting over her bones. A chord becoming taut inside her chest. And then, a very, very bad feeling.

“Who are you?” Atarah said.

“Lord Delmar, my Lady.”

“Your family is not well known in these parts,” Atarah said. “Has my mother invited you?”

“She has, my Lady. You can go ask,” he smiled widely, those scars stretching. They no longer looked like bee stings. They somewhat reminded Atarah of wax burns.

Atarah turned her head, and looked for her mother – she conversing animatedly with the rest of her family, unaware of her daughter’s unease.

She always told Atarah not to ignore bad feelings.

She turned to the male. “Your sister can come inside, if she wishes to speak to me, Lord Delmar. It is she who wishes to meet me. Let her come to me, then.” Then she turned on her heel.

But she didn’t make it far.

The male touched her wrist. It seemed gentle, but his grip was enough to shatter bone – if he’d wanted to. Atarah halted. She looked for guards.

But the male approached her, and said, so softly, “I have people hiding in your walls. If you want your family to keep their hearts inside their chests, you’ll come with me outside and warn no guards.”

Atarah considered this.

She looked up, and around her. People danced, and chatted, and no one looked at her. At the male’s warning, her eyes closed. She breathed in.

She released her wrist from his grip and gave him a hard stare. “Who are you?”

“I think you know why I’m here.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Atarah said.

“Out,” the male said, keeping his easy smile on. “Or the pretty little family will become red paint covering these walls.”

Atarah raised her head high.

“Come now,” said the male. “Get that fear off your eyes, darling. You don’t want to cause a scene.” He gave her his arm.

Atarah took it, and made a point to dig her nails so deep it cut through fabric and skin.

The male said not a word, even as her nails sank into his skin.

He walked her out.

***

“I’ve killed one of you,” Atarah murmured softly to him. “I can kill you, too.”

“Can you?” The male said. “How dangerous you are. How come a female of your station became so prone to violence?”

They walked far, far into the gardens. Night had fallen. The guards hadn’t notice her slipping out. And if they did, they weren’t worried. She looked as if she was walking out with a male on her own.

They stopped, and he stepped away from her abruptly. From the bushes, three other males rose like thorns.

Perhaps she’d been wasting her fear those last few days. Perhaps she didn’t have any left. Because then, as she faced them, Atarah felt nothing but hatred.

They wanted to take her back.

Put her back on a cell.

Cut her wings.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline.

Or perhaps she was just that – prone to violence.

Atarah didn’t care to consider.

She looked at each one of them, and said, “You can threaten me,” she said. “But the moment you threaten my family is the moment you perish.” She took out a long knife from her boot. “Shall we play?”

She didn’t know this vicious character.

But it felt good to be her.

It felt good to be angry, instead of shivering in the corners of her room, terrified of her own memories.

This was so much better.

The male who’d spoken to her smiled. “So sorry about this, darling.”

Atarah positioned her knife.

The male grinned.

But up high above them, piercing right through the skies, the cry of a falcon was heard.


	27. Chapter 27

Rhiannon Crochan swept through the skies in her blue-grey wyvern, her black leathers making her look like a disappearing shadow in the early morning mist. It was rather odd to see a witch soaring above the woodlands of Perranth, but the people still looked up from their cottages, Azul’s wings casting a brief darkness along the oak trees and vivid grasses, as their curious eyes followed their journey.

She was preparing to succeed her mother. Someday, Rhiannon would wear the crown of stars, and as such, she had a very important role to play. And a great deal to learn. Her days were spent between pages of books, dwelling in politics and history and warfare. Some days, her mother took her out into the mountains, and they would sit at the edge of the cliff just staring off into their seemingly endless land for an hour or two. In those moments, Rhiannon knew that her mother would be thinking of her Thirteen. A day did not go by without Manon remembering them – and she’d made sure both Rhia and Asterin had known every detail of how they came to be by Manon’s side, and how they came to be pulled apart. Rhiannon knew she would never match their bravery. She would never live up to be the witch she was named after.

But for her mother, her father, and for her country and her people, Rhiannon could damn well try.

Leaving the Witch Kingdom at such an hour had been hard on her conscience, but Rhiannon’s heart weighed heavy and hard on her chest, and she needed to-

She needed to see him.

Perhaps it would be too soon.

But she did promise him, hadn’t she? She promised she would meet him in Perranth when it was all over.

The staff of Perranth Manor squinted up at the grey skies. When they saw the familiar wyvern, their eyes turned toward each other. They would be warning the Lords immediately. Rhiannon hadn’t had time to send a note – she’d left rather hastily.

When she settled down on the grounds near the familiar stream, Rhiannon already had a gentle-looking male wearing butler’s clothes awaiting her. Immediately, she felt rather terrible – she didn’t wish to cause any trouble, and hadn’t meant to be inconsiderate by arriving at such an early hour. But the butler smiled anyway, took the reins, and told her, very kindly, “We are always happy to have you here, Your Highness.”

Rhiannon knew he meant it.

These people cared about her. Perranth had almost been her third home growing up. Her time had always been divided between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, but Terrasen felt as familiar to her as her very own home. The smell of the trees, the cold of the north, the calm stream… it was home.

And home also looked exactly like a dishevelled Andrik.

Before she had time to walk inside the Manor, he was already walking down the stairs in fast, graceful steps. Her heart thrummed in her chest like a war drum at the first sight of him. His hair was absolutely undone, his waves falling over his face and sticking up in some places, which was inarguably not the look Andrik Lochan ever went for. He wore simple, comfortable brown trousers and a half-unbuttoned cream shirt with a crooked collar, like he’d just thrown it on and cared not for finishing dressing. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and Rhiannon found that she rather liked this wide-eyed, uncomposed Andrik.

He’d always been the proper one out of all of them.

She remembered them being very little, fighting each other in the mud, Rhiannon jumping over Ferran’s back and trying to rub his face on the ground, and Amara distracting her by throwing mud balls at her hair. She remembered jumping on the stream in her most beautiful dresses, pulling Amara in, both of them splashing Ferran in the face until he snapped and joined them in their little playful wars. She remembered Andrik’s frown and his hands behind his back, his straight, perfect posture and his nose crinkled in distaste. Never a hair out of place for him. Never a stain on his clothes. Back then, Ragnar, Eva, Asterin and the rest of them had been too little to witness Andrik’s horror at the mess Rhiannon managed to get into, but in that half-second, Rhia remembered it all.

How very different he looked.

He walked to her, so quickly, and Rhia stayed exactly where she was, frozen.

Her mouth opened, and the first thing she managed to blurt out was, “Your brother is coming home. Ragnar is alright, Andrik. Eva is with him, and they just arrived at my father’s this morning. They’re coming home-”

Andrik cut off her breath the moment he collided with her.

He embraced her with such strength that Rhia felt her bones creak. She held him back, eyes fluttering shut at the warmth of him, seeping through her. Home. This was home.

Andrik buried his face on her shoulder, and Rhiannon felt his chest shake, and tremble, and…

He was sobbing.

Sobbing with the news.

So he hadn’t heard – just like Rhiannon expected. “My father sent me the note today,” she whispered. “They’d been staying with Hollin an Evangeline in Meah…”

He held her tighter.

He was without words.

Rhiannon held him through it all. The relief she’d felt that morning… Rhiannon had no doubt that it was a thousand times bigger for Andrik. She could only imagine how it had felt – to have to wait for news, while his brother and his friend were in danger-

“It’s alright,” she whispered to him, kissing his cheek, hugging him through it all, her heart breaking and putting itself back together because she was here, she was finally here, and Andrik was in her arms, and everything was going to be alright at last. “It’s alright.”

Rhiannon opened her eyes.

Over Andrik’s shoulder, her gaze found Ferran’s. The oldest Lochan stood at the entrance of the manor, looking over at them. His face contorted as he heard her, even from that far. His eyes filled with tears of relief. He ran a hand down his face, breathing deeply.

Ferran – who had to rule Perranth while his parents protected his youngest siblings in Orynth. Ferran – who had been away from his mate for weeks. Rhiannon had seen how Amara’s heart had hurt in Orynth, when she’d stayed there. Ferran did not look any better.

He nodded gratefully at Rhia once, before walking back inside, giving her and Andrik some privacy.

Andrik pulled back just slightly, and touched her cheeks. His eyes were puffy and red, and he was still shaking slightly. “Are they hurt?” He whispered, his voice failing him.

“Not to my knowledge,” Rhia said back. “If they were gravely injured, my father would have told me.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“I don’t know any more details,” Rhia murmured, leaning against his touch, almost unconsciously. “I know Ragnar will explain everything when he comes back.”

“I’ve to write to my mother,” Andrik said to himself, eyes far away.

“I think your brother’s already done so,” Rhia said, gesturing towards the Manor. “Ferran heard everything. I can hear him cutting parchment.”

Andrik nodded, his thumb moving across her chin. “And you’re here.”

“I told you I’d meet you here,” Rhia whispered. “Did you forget?”

“No,” Andrik said, letting out a long breath. He touched his forehead to hers, and Rhia allowed herself to close her eyes, to enjoy that warmth, that smell of him. “No. I was hoping you’d come earlier. But I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

Rhia formed a crooked smile, and poked at his undone shirt. “I can see that.”

Andrik laughed, a little embarrassed. One hand came up to wipe his tears.

Rhiannon brushed his hair back, and he smiled, content. But then he said, “Sorry I look like shit.”

The witch snorted. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Andrik,” Rhia said. “You always look perfect.” And she meant it – hell, the proof was standing right in front of her. She ran two fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “This suits you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. Andrik’s fingers pinched the tip of her braid, and he grinned with her. “I… I missed you.”

To admit as much – it felt incredibly vulnerable to her. It was almost unlike her to give in to vulnerability. But now, after weeks of missing him, Rhia felt like she owed it to him – and to herself – to allow herself a piece of the truth. A large piece of the truth.

Andrik met her eyes, that deep brown following her golden depths. He said, “I don’t want to be parted from you. Ever. Not in the way that matters.”

Rhia drew closer to him, but before she could calm her heart enough to be able to give him a proper answer, Ferran walked out again, a messenger following close on his heels. Rhiannon felt the anxiousness waving off the oldest Lochan, and her eyes narrowed over Andrik’s shoulder.

Andrik turned at the same time that Rhia said, “Ferran, what is it?”

Ferran crumpled the note in his hand. “It’s from Suria.”

***

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God-_

The moment Aidan’s eyes had turned from her, María’s nerves stood on edge almost immediately. And then – _they’re here._

María felt as if she might be meeting God. Or maybe like, the royal family or something.

Well.

Technically, they _were_ royalty. _Aidan_ was royalty, in his own world. A strange type of royalty María had never got to study, a royal family very different from the one that she knew in her country. Rules were surely very different here. Would she bow? Would she even be able to address them personally? And this question brought up a whole other array of questions – _How_ to address them, specifically? Would they hate her? Would they not trust her? Would they banish her forever from their son’s life? Would she-

“María,” Aidan said then, a little fearful.

She realized she’d gone absolutely pale. Her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind Aidan showed her unfocused wide-eyes, and her cheeks free of colour. She looked like a corpse. María shivered.

“Hey,” Aidan knelt down again next to her. “What’s wrong?”

He was frightened, she realized. Frightened by her reaction.

“I’m not prepared,” she whispered, so very low, fearful of being heard. “I had to mentally prepare myself for this conversation, and now that I realize that I haven’t, I don’t know what to say.” She swallowed hard. “They’ll hate me.”

Aidan widened his eyes ever so slightly.

And then, to her utter shock, he laughed.

Literally laughed.

He hung his head, almost resting his forehead on her knees, wrapped his arms around her middle, and _laughed_.

Not at her, she immediately understood – but at the whole ordeal. It was high-pitched and a little hysterical, in the way that María had never heard him laughing before. As if he was shocked that _that_ was the real reason as to why she’d paled. Like he’d expected something much, much worse.

She sat there, unsure of how to draw herself back from her panic.

But Aidan looked up, and began to shake his head.

“What’s so funny?” She asked, a little offended.

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have laughed, but…” Aidan breathed another laugh – almost a scoff. “But you faced a grown Illyrian to protect yourself and defend my honour, proceeded to punch him in the face even though he had a sword, broke your wrist in the process… but you’re afraid of meeting my mom and dad?”

It _did_ seem a little bit out of proportion.

… when he put it like that.

María cleared her throat awkwardly. “I guess I’m much more afraid of losing you than facing a grown Illyrian with a sword.”

Aidan stopped smiling. “You’re not going to lose me.”

Such determination, such resilience in that answer. María stared at him, unable to say anything else.

“Why do you think that?” He murmured, unwrapping his arms from around her and touching her good hand instead. “Why?”

“Perhaps your parents won’t like all that is different between us,” María pointed out. “I’m invading their world, you know. In their eyes, I’m putting you in danger, for certain. In a way, Zelos was right, and you know it.”

Aidan paused, staring at her.

María continued, “They probably won’t like the idea that I’m your mate. And that I want to be with you.” Her cheeks bloomed with colour again. She’d said as much between the lines, but it was still a revelation. And it was still new to see how his eyes sparkled when she admitted that. “Perhaps they would have chosen someone else for you.”

“But _I_ chose _you_ , didn’t I?” Aidan whispered.

María lowered her eyes.

“I did choose,” Aidan said. “And you chose me.”

She had – there was no arguing with that.

“When I spoke to my mother about you,” Aidan admitted softly, and María guessed he, too, wanted this conversation to remain private, even with the super-hearing people downstairs, “my mother burst into tears. It didn’t take my long to realize that she was happy for me.” Aidan smiled at the memory. “My mother… genuinely thought I was bound to be alone, because that’s just how I was before you. I _wanted_ to be alone. I thought I was fine being alone. I never craved love, or touch, or anything romantic with anyone before you. Of course she’d been willing to respect that. At the end of the day, my mother would agree to any plan I had for myself, as long as I was happy. But I guess that she wanted someone to stand by me, too.” He took her good hand, traced her thumb gently. He looked down at the difference between them – her small, warm hand, her long fingers sliding between his. His hand swallowed hers. But they fit together so seamlessly. Aidan smiled wider, almost to himself. “She hoped I would find someone eventually. She hoped I’d _love_ someone eventually. My mother hadn’t cared then that you were human, María. And she won’t care now. I think you’ll just find that she’s never been happier for me.”

María watched him silently, feeling her heart shudder in her chest. It was one thing to know that they had spoken about her – it quieted her conscience, the fact that she wasn’t a big secret. That Aidan hadn’t been hesitant to break the news. But it was another completely different thing to know that, even before they’d met her, these people had accepted her. Because she made Aidan happy. Despite everything, she made her mate happy.

Royal or not, they weren’t as different from her own family.

“And your dad?” She murmured.

Aidan looked up at her. “My father met my mother when she was still human. I think he was the first person to understand.”

_Breathe, breathe, breathe._

“Okay,” María managed to whisper.

“Okay?” Aidan smiled, leaning in.

Her good hand made its way to his cheek, feeling the soft stubble there. It was such a normal thing – that stubble, the smile reflected in his eyes, the gentle breathing, the warmth of him… it made her believe they weren’t so different after all.

He gave her the gentlest kiss.

It was but a press of his mouth against hers. Still enough to leave her dizzy.

Aidan pulled back, brushing his nose against hers. “You’re it, love.”

_You’re it._

Her heart stumbled a thousand times, and her mind was so filled with colours that María felt as if she would never have a dark thought ever again.

Aidan held out a hand, and when she took it, María had the same feeling as when she opened a new book she’d been dying to read for years.

***

_A few hours earlier…_

A grey-winged falcon was spotted first.

Two more followed him, almost identical. And an eagle soared high above them, like a cloud of protection.

Atarah knew it then.

Why she’d felt that chord being pulled deep inside her. It wasn’t just a bad feeling that this night was going to go completely wrong. It was her gut telling her, oh so clearly, _your mate is near your mate is near._

Still, her concentration didn’t break. Not for one second. As she stared at the four males in front of her. A signal was the only thing their so-called “shadows” needed to hurt her family inside of the Manor.

But they couldn’t give out a signal if they were dead.

Atarah saw, right in front of her, the first falcon shift behind the males. Oren’s eyes were stark black. For a moment, he seemed like a completely different person. Atarah almost didn’t recognize him. In a split second, two other falcons shifted – to reveal a girl with pale golden hair, and a boy who looked very much like her. Another female – an eagle – now with curls falling over her face, stood beside the girl with a snarl falling from her lips. The attackers actually hesitated. They were not evenly matched, and they knew it.

Atarah saw Oren and her heart gave out.

She wished he wasn’t here.

She was worrying for her family – and now her mate wasn’t safe, either.

Her anger flowed through her veins, strangely familiar, oddly comforting.

“Get. Out. Of my home.” Atarah whispered to the males, her blade in her hand.

The male who’d lead her out looked to Oren, then back to her. Pausing. Assessing. He knew that between them all, there was a precarious balance now. At any move, no matter how small, a war would break out – and it would be destructive. Anyone could walk out right now, and then the balance would shatter, too.

“Send them away,” the male said in the same tone. “Or you and your family die.”

Oren growled, frighteningly so, but didn’t move – he understood this careful balance all too well.

Atarah raised her head, questions in her mind. How had they come to be here? Who did Oren bring with him? Why-

Later.

Her priority was her family, dancing unknowingly inside her home, oblivious to the danger they were in.

“Get over me first,” Atarah said. “You’ll only get to my family once my blood runs cold.” She lifted her blade. “But I warn you now: I’ve come too far to die.”

“Atarah,” Oren mouthed.

It was such a small movement, so inconspicuous, that for a small moment, Atarah thought that perhaps she’d imagined it. But then Oren’s blazing eyes met hers, and she saw it all in that gaze. It was as if their minds were one.

“You’re bluffing,” Atarah said.

The male cocked his head to the side.

“You managed to get in by pure luck,” Atarah continued. “By blending in with the crowd and with your fabrics and your good acting. But there’s no way you could have infiltrated more people without me smelling you all out. You’re _bluffing_. You know you’re no match for the five of us.”

The male actually paled.

It had been a gamble.

A gamble Oren had made first, and had tried to tell Atarah about. A gamble – that had turned out to be the perfect explanation. If she’d been less anxious, less afraid, less angry, she would have seen it immediately.

These males only saw bloodshed. They only saw revenge. So of course, that made them clumsy.

That made them slip.

They weren’t expecting Oren to arrive with company. They expected her to be soft and afraid. They expected to lead her away, and not have a downright war right here right now.

But they were wrong.

“You _are_ bluffing,” Atarah said at last, smiling when she saw the male’s eyes flash. “I will show you mercy if you surrender now. But raise your sword against me, and you will find in me an enemy for life.”

The others actually considered this. She saw their hesitance.

Oren nodded once at her – _good_ , he seemed to say. _Good_.

But there was anger in him – he wanted to skin these males alive for putting her in danger. But Oren knew the right thing to do. He knew what she’d want. What she’d do. And he’d respect her wishes.

No matter what.

Their so-called leader – the male who’d dragged her out – seemed to be at a loss for words.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Atarah began to say. “You know, you must know, deep down, that this is wrong. I might have killed Hylas.” Saying his name made her throat close. “But Hylas would have killed me and my mate and my friends. He was not a terrible male – he was a product of what was done to him and of Viktor Vanserra’s manipulation. But Hylas had a choice, and he chose the wrong thing.” Atarah did not let go of her blade. But she still stared at the male in the eye, and said, “I wonder what choice you will make.”

“You speak of peace but you have your mate positioned to kill me,” the male said, raising his brows.

Atarah met Oren’s eyes. “My mate will not make a move against you unless I tell him to. None of us will.”

The male looked conflicted.

Atarah turned her gaze to him. “He must have something on you.”

“What.”

“Vanserra,” Atarah said softly. “He must have manipulated you, too. Because I see your conflict. I see you don’t want to be here. You mourn your friend. You mourn Hylas, and you hate me because I killed him. But you have to understand that I did what I had to do. I would do mostly anything to survive. And I will do _everything_ for my mate’s safety – for my friends, and my family. I think you and I are not so different in that aspect.” A pause. “What does he have on each one of you? He can see bonds between people – did he threaten your loved ones? Did he threaten you?”

Changes – changes all around their faces. The angry glares became surprise. Surprise became pain. And pain became… grief.

There it was.

Atarah said, “He’s not powerful enough. He _will_ be caught. And when he is, all of you will have to make a choice. Disregard what you think you believe, what he preached at you, and join us. We can offer you more than protection – we can _help_ you, if you let us. Whatever Vanserra did-”

“My little sister,” a male – the smallest one, said. He was closest to Oren, and he smartly took a step away from her mate, speaking to the ground. “He took my little sister. Said… said a half-breed took her. But what would anyone want with her? She’s the sweetest soul.”

“Where is she?” Atarah asked.

The male closed his eyes. “In the ruins of Allsbrook, trapped in one of the towers. I managed to see her once, they didn’t allow me to take her home… But Vanserra said he’d give her back to me once we finished what we had to do.”

The others looked to him, but most didn’t seem hostile. Not even the leader made a comment, nor seemed to condemn his friend because he was telling his story. They almost seemed… resigned. Defeated.

Atarah knew one thing: they would not attack.

They knew they had only one choice. To survive, they could not fight her.

“Kill the Queen and her Court, you mean,” Atarah said.

The male sighed. “He travelled to Allsbrook last year. My father is a merchant, you see, and apparently, Vanserra wanted to do some business with him, under a different name. My father agreed, and when Vanserra came to our home, he saw how close my sister and I were. She’s all I got, you see. She’s my world. My best friend.” A pause. The male breathed in a shaky breath. “And she’s so little-”

“What happened?”

“Vanserra wanted to pick his soldiers from every corner of Erilea. I’m not sure why he picked me.” A pause. “I never… I never had a problem with half-breeds-”

“Demi-fae,” Oren snarled softly.

The male looked apologetic. “Yes, demi-fae. O-Or shifters. Until Vanserra spoke to me. And everything he said made… perfect sense. At the time, at least. That those people would try to come for me and my sister. When I found out that Vanserra took my sister away, and that he was guilty, I confronted him about it. We all did,” the male gestured towards his companions, “but he had her. He still has her. And I can’t mess up. I’d rather be gutted than have my sister suffer for my actions.”

A dead silence.

The leader stepped in. He breathed in. “My… my wife,” he whispered. Just that. Just those two words – filled with anguish, and pain, and regret. He wouldn’t continue, and Atarah wouldn’t force him to. She could understand enough from the way his eyes watered alone.

“I didn’t care nothin’ for Hylas,” one of them said. He looked up at Atarah. “It’s nothin’ against you, m’lady.”

“We can’t be arrested,” another said. “If we are…” he breathed in. “He knows where I live. He’ll end my life.”

“How old are you?” Atarah asked him.

The male swallowed hard. “Sixteen.”

Just a boy.

Atarah considered them all.

“If I showed you that shifters and demi-fae have never been reason for doubt, or prejudice or hatred, will you help us?” Atarah said. “No harm shall come to you. I will bring you to the Queen of Terrasen myself, and justify for you. But I need you on my side for this. I need you to work with me.” A pause, as she watched them nod. “But if you make another threat, I _will_ have to kill you.” Honesty – she needed to be as honest with them as she could. Killing them would be her last resort, of course. But nothing – and no one – would come between her and her family. And Oren – now that he had arrived.

“Where is your master now?”

“We don’t know,” their leader said. “Last time we saw him, he was telling us about Hylas, and how you killed him.”

Atarah tried not to flinch.

A pause.

No news from Eva. No news from Ragnar.

“For my own safety, and my family’s, I need to put you in a cell tonight,” Atarah muttered. “You will be as comfortable as possible. But I cannot risk it, all of you walking free. I hope you understand.” The leader began to speak again, but Atarah continued: “The Princess of Terrasen is after your master, and she _will_ catch him. He will never harm you again.” 

“We still have to answer to our crimes,” one said. The one with his missing sister.

“Yes,” Atarah admitted. “You will not go unpunished for this.” She remembered the smell of her cell, the poison seeping through her veins. She shuddered. “You will be questioned, and given justice. With my word, however, and your help, the consequences will not be as heavy.”

“We haven’t killed anyone,” the last one murmured, almost to himself. “Nor delivered anyone for him to kill.”

“Spies, then,” Atarah concluded. They nodded. “Your Queen is forgiving. So, will you join me?”

Four heads nodded.

Atarah lowered her blade at last.

***

“I’m _fine_.”

“It’s the hundredth time you’ve said it, and I still don’t believe you.”

The journey to Adarlan had been a difficult one. The earlier they left Meah, the earlier they would be able to reach Dorian, and finally let their family and their friends know that they were safe. Well – saf _er_.

Her mate was being a pain in her ass.

It was sweet, really, the worried creases on his brow, how he fussed over her-

But Eva was tired of being tended to. Her body ached so much that sometimes it was hard to think of anything else, and having him constantly looking at her like he wished to ask her if she was alright, just reminded her of the fact that she was very much wrecked.

Fear also lived at the bottom of her stomach.

She hadn’t been able to shift yet.

Not that she’d tried, but… her shifting had always felt like a little force inside her. It was like a mental rope that was always there, dangling, waiting for her to pull on it, so the curtains could rise, showing her a stage full of endless possibilities.

Now… she did not feel it.

She felt rather empty, actually.

Eva had tried to reason with herself – she’d never shifted the way she’d done that day. Perhaps she had broken something inside her. Or perhaps her pain was not enabling her from reaching that part of herself that took strength she simply did not have right now.

But it was still frightening.

She was nothing without her abilities.

She was a shell of a girl.

Ragnar held her hand. Traced her cheek in the back of the carriage. Said, “Hey, Ashryver.”

“Hey, Lochan.”

He said nothing else. There was so much between them… so much to say. But that would have to wait a little bit longer, because that was Adarlan in the near distance.

Guards flanked them almost immediately. They’d been following them along the way, always keeping close, in case danger fell upon them. Now, she was being pulled out of the carriage by Ragnar’s gentle and careful hands. He placed her on the grass with a kiss to the top of her head, his eyes following the line of guards anxiously. He’d never been alright with crowds. She could almost feel the need to sweep her away from here emanating from him like waves.

Eva touched his chest, right above his heart – a quiet reminder that they were here, safe. They had made it through.

They followed the guards inside the palace of Adarlan, her hand wrapped tightly around his arm. His gaze fell on her often – checking her breathing, how she was fairing. It was impossible to hide her pain from him, and that’s what hurt her the most.

Before they had a chance to be led to the throne room, a wild Dorian quickly walked towards them, his ebony hair falling over his face.

He wrapped his arms around Eva, tight, but not enough to hurt. Though it still made her grimace slightly. She patted his shoulder as Dorian lifted her off the ground.

“You,” Dorian whispered, “scared the shit out of all of us.”

“I know,” Eva said. “Your daughter almost broke whatever was left to break of my bones.”

Dorian pulled back, his eyes slightly watery. He pulled Ragnar in, despite the Lochan boy’s protests, and said, “You’re not to travel anywhere today. Do you hear me? I’ll write to your mother at once, if Hollin hasn’t already, and you-“ He turned to Eva. He let out a long, long sigh. “Sweetheart-”

“Is he here?” Eva said, her voice tense.

Immediately, Ragnar’s spine straightened, as if he was bracing himself to attack.

Dorian’s jaw ticked. “Yes.”

Eva breathed in shakily. “I wish to speak to him.”

“No,” Ragnar said.

Eva knew it was instinctive. She knew his reaction was a product of the bond between them – the bond he still had no idea about. But it still irked at her. “Excuse me,” she said, too softly.

Ragnar and Dorian looked at each other. Ragnar seemed to plead for help. Dorian looked hesitant to step between him and Eva, in case the Princess decided to put her claws to use.

Lucky for them, Eva had no claws of her own now, it seemed.

Wasn’t sure how – _if_ – they were coming back.

“He hasn’t talked,” Dorian said. “And as much delight as it would give me to force the truth out of him, the law does not make it possible. He is a citizen of Terrasen. Aelin is the only one who can touch him.”

Eva blinked very slowly, ignoring her exhaustion. Or trying to. “Good thing Aelin crowned me a Princess at my birth,” she murmured. “That makes him mine.”

Ragnar touched her arm, so gently, but she shook him off. Gave him a look that Ragnar found too familiar. This was the look Ashryver gave him before she absolutely obliterated him with words. This was the look that won every argument.

“I wish to see him,” Eva repeated, raising her chin at Dorian.

Dorian was as much her uncle as Vaughan and Fenrys. They were not related by blood, but it didn’t matter. She was family to him, as he was to her. And she knew Dorian wanted to protect her, fiercely so. But Eva needed to do this. She needed answers to her questions.

Dorian appeared sad then, as he looked down at her. His eyes trailed to Ragnar – for only a split second. She did not miss it.

“Don’t look at him,” Eva said. “I’m my own person.”

“I never put that into question,” said Dorian. “But haven’t you suffered enough already, Evie?”

Eva took a deep breath in.

“Please,” Ragnar whispered.

She looked up at him. Eva knew what he was begging for. _Leave it be. If he hurts you again, I will end his life, and we won’t get the information we need._

Eva wouldn’t give in. She knew.

“Compromise with me, then,” Dorian said softly. “It’s midday. Rest. Eat. Gain back your strength. Change your bloody bandages. _Take care of yourself_. And _then_ talk to him. If not for your sake, for mine and Ragnar’s.”

Eva watched them both carefully. They’d pester her until her ears bled. “Fine.”

Dorian allowed a small smile. “You’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Stubborn,” he said. “You remind me so much of Aelin.” He smiled fondly. “When you were small and you bruised your knees, you never allowed me to tend to you when I was around. You’d wave me away, and say, _Let’s go again, uncle Dorian!_ And you’d keep playing. You always hated people tending to you.”

Eva breathed a soft laugh. “Some things never change.”

“No,” Dorian agreed, as he looked between Ragnar and Eva, unspoken thoughts in his eyes. Before Eva could wonder about that strange look he suddenly got, Dorian said, “Your chambers are ready. They’re next to each other.” And with a slight raise of his brows, he turned on his heel, looking over his shoulder once, “Let me know if you need anything.”

***

Healers were sent to her chambers, but Ragnar waved them off. He said he’d take care of her himself.

Eva was glad for it.

She was endlessly exhausted of having two to three healers around her, checking her temperature, poking her. Though the air was tense between them, she would rather have Ragnar than anyone else.

Dorian had clearly meant two separate chambers had been prepared. But he clearly wasn’t expecting them to remain separate.

Was it that clear to everyone what they were to each other?

Was it that obvious?

Was Ragnar the only one who had failed to see it?

Eva swallowed hard as he carefully undressed her. The sun had disappeared behind clouds, and Adarlan looked embraced by an early winter. The fire lit in their chambers was comforting, the smell familiar. Ragnar’s touch was gentle, but Eva was still trying to keep herself from pulling back everytime she felt his hands. She was afraid of the pain. And she was afraid to _show_ pain. Eva didn’t want to worry him further. 

“Back there,” Ragnar began to say, his voice hoarse, as he pulled back the strings of her bodice, “I didn’t mean _no_ as in… like I was prohibiting you-”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Eva said slowly, eyes falling shut. Standing was too much work. “I know you’d never try to do that.”

Ragnar paused. Her bodice fell apart, and he removed her dress. Even the brush of the soft fabric against her bruised skin made her flinch. His eyes followed the bruises of her back. Of her thighs.

Ragnar looked up.

He met her eyes through a long mirror on the other wall, and there he could see her bruises from the front. Her skin was purple and yellow in places. Cuts stitched together. Patches of bruised skin along her stomach. A red scar ran along her neck, down to her collarbone, like the skin had been burnt.

He’d seen it before, of course, when the healers had been tending to her at Meah.

But it still made his heart ache – seeing all her scars again.

Eva watched him carefully. She looked down at herself, and her expression remained unreadable. What was she thinking, he wondered? He wished to erase every bad memory from her. He’d relive it all in her stead, if that’s what it took.

Ragnar said nothing as he gently picked her up.

Eva only let out a soft sound, but rested her cheek on his shoulder anyway as he carried her to the bath. He laid her down gently, and the warm water made her hiss.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You keep saying that,” Eva said. “It’s not your fault.” And then: “I’ll heal, Ragnar.”

“I know you will. But it still pains me to see you like that.”

At his harsher tone, Eva looked up.

Ragnar swallowed hard. “I suppose you don’t want me in there with you when you speak to Vanserra.” Even saying his name-

Ragnar had never wished to murder anyone before.

But he’d kill Vanserra a hundred times over.

He removed her bandages slowly.

Eventually, Eva said, “No.”

He clenched his jaw. “So you’re allowed to tell me to stay away, and I’m not allowed to warn you off?”

Eva remained staring straight ahead.

Unrelenting as any Queen.

“Warn me off is one thing,” Eva whispered. “Disrespecting my choices is another.”

“Disrespecting your choices,” Ragnar repeated.

“I wish you hadn’t come with me, Ragnar,” she admitted.

Never looking at him.

That was his tipping point.

“You would’ve died if I hadn’t been there,” he said, deadly quiet.

“You don’t know that. Is your confidence in me that low?”

He snorted loudly. He rose from his squatting position, taking her bandages to burn them. Eva watched him go, her heart in shambles.

Ragnar was angry. 

She knew it.

They had always been too stubborn. Unable to compromise with each other. But at the end of the day, what would really make them break was how much they loved each other.

Ironic, if you think about it.

She was unwilling to put him in danger, just as he was unwilling to see her in danger. She could understand him.

Eva just wished he could understand her.

She didn’t expect him to come back.

But Ragnar stood in the doorway a few moments later. He crossed his arms and said, “You are my life. Do you understand that?”

Eva watched him. She wanted to shrink a little – and she did, letting herself slide further into the water. “Yes,” she breathed.

His jaw was hard. “Do you understand, also, that I will squeeze the life out of whoever dares to bring you any more pain? And that it kills me that Vanserra is still alive after what he’s done to you?”

Eva closed her eyes. “Yes.”

Ragnar walked to her in thunderous steps.

Eva sniffed slightly as he leaned in close. She dared to open her eyes, found his dark gaze.

He spoke softly, but firmly, “You won’t give in. But I won’t give in either. Can you accept that?”

He knew her answer, surely.

She’d been willing to spend her life arguing with him over the most trivial things. She _was_ willing to spend her life with him, even if they were absolutely stubborn, even if they would always struggle to find a good middle between them.

“Yes,” she said.

“Speak to him, then,” he said, pulling back suddenly. Straightening. “But if I feel you break, I _will_ come for you. And I will remove you from there, with no promises of keeping Vanserra alive. Understand me?”

Eva swallowed down. “Yes.”

Ragnar grabbed the rest of the bandages, intending to have them join the others burning already-

Something ticked at her.

Something… in the way he’d said those words.

_If I **feel** you break._

The bond had snapped in place for him already.

She could feel it in the way he’d emphasized those words.

_If I **feel** you._

The way she often felt him. The way his emotions affected hers.

Because of their bond.

_He knows._

_He knows._

_He knows._

Eva watched him go, totally unaware of what was going on through her mind.

She heard the bandages being burned.

He knew.

How long?

Eva was moving out of the bath before she knew it, leaving a tub of bloody water behind. She felt like she might not be in absolute control of her body, for her legs moved on their own. Her arm reached absentmindedly for the robe. She put in on. Dragged her feet back into her chambers.

Ragnar looked at her questioningly from the fireplace.

And then he saw the tears in her eyes.

“Eva,” he blurted out, urgency in his eyes as he walked to her. Touched her cheeks, looking into her eyes to see what was wrong-

“You _know_ ,” she whispered, voice breaking.

He might have been shot. He certainly looked like he had.

After a moment of gazing int her eyes, his thumb traced her cheek, so gently. He pulled her closer. Both ignoring that she was dripping water on their uncle’s expensive carpet.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“O-Oh,” she said, letting out a soft sob.

The emotions of the last few days finally dawned at her.

She broke.

It might have felt like the very first time the word had rang true in her mind. Back in that cottage she destroyed, her father holding her, putting her pieces back together because she had no strength left to pick them up. _Mate. He’s my mate. He’s mine. He’s always been mine._

The fear of something happening to him.

All the pain.

All the sleepless nights.

It all came crashing down.

Ragnar pressed her into his chest, holding her together. Eva sobbed into his chest, feeling relief, gratefulness, more fear, happiness… everything at once. It was everything at once.

He knew.

At last, he knew.

And just like that, he said the words she’d been dying to hear for weeks, “My mate,” so softly, against her hair. “My love. My Eva.”

Humans spoke of paradise all the time.

Eva was certain she’d found it in her mate’s arms.

***

Once she’d called the guards, with orders that the prisoners were not to be harmed, for they had to answer to the Queen of Terrasen herself, Atarah had been swarmed by her worried family. Guards had looked at Oren and his three companions and raised their swords, but Atarah pushed away from the crowd and said, “No! Stop! He’s my-“

Her family looked at her with wide-eyes. Their gazes travelled back to Oren, looking stricken and stunned behind her.

Atarah swallowed hard. “He’s my mate. Do not harm them, they have done nothing but aid me tonight.”

Oren heard the murmurs from her family. _Mate? Mate? Did you know this? Did she tell you this?_

But Atarah was looking at him.

And – Gods – she was _smiling_ at him.

His heart struggled to find its grip on this world. Every face became a blur expect for hers. He knew he’d missed her, he knew he’d struggled without her, without knowing if she was safe, and happy, and-

But now that he was here, looking at her, Oren realized just how much he’d needed her near.

He remembered his promise too clearly.

In his haste to arrive, and in his urgency to get to her when, soaring the skies, he’d sensed the danger she was in, Oren hadn’t quite accomplished what he’d wanted to. So, without taking his eyes off her – because he was unable to – Oren reached over to a rose bush, picked a beautiful rose, and whispered, “Hello, sweetheart.”

He’d told her he’d meet her again with flowers.

He intended to keep every promise he made her, no matter how small.

Atarah didn’t seem to mind all the eyes on them. She walked to him, slowly at first, bracing herself, and then she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him so close that Oren’s breath was cut off. But he didn’t waste time, and held her to him. He breathed her in, basking in light, her softness, her smell, her happy laugh-

He took it all in.

“I would reach you before my letter did,” Oren whispered to her. “That’s why I didn’t write back…”

“You’re here,” she said, and had to pull back to look at him. To tell herself that this was real.

A cough was heard behind them.

Atarah turned promptly, holding his rose in her hand. His hand touched her arm, so gently, as if he couldn’t keep away from her.

“So, hum…” Atarah muttered. She paused. “This is Oren…”

He waved an awkward hand. “Hello,” and bowed.

Everyone was dead silent.

So many questions in their eyes.

Atarah smiled to herself, but before she could dive into explanations, she saw a flash of pale, golden hair and then there was a smiling female in front of her, extending a friendly hand.

“Atarah, at last we meet.” She shook Atarah’s hand vehemently, her smile wide and genuine. “Incredible speech, first of all. You could move nations with a mind like yours.” She smiled wide, turning her eyes to Oren, as if to give her praises. _You chose well_. “How rude of me, I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Thalia, I’m your mate’s sister. And that gorgeous lady right there, is my mate, Raya.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Raya breathed. Then bowed, smiling kindly.

“Callum,” the male said, stepping up to them. He looked just as kind, but quiet, almost shy, as he looked over at Atarah. “Our brother has spoken of you often, and with great admiration. We were very excited to meet you.”

“Though the circumstances clearly weren’t the best, I’m glad that’s kind of sorted out now,” Thalia added.

Atarah looked at each one of them, slightly overwhelmed.

Oren laughed gently, and touched her cheek.

Thalia turned to her family, and bowed deep. “We’re so very sorry to barge into your beautiful home, Lady and Lord of Suria. Oren sensed Atarah was in danger.”

“I’m very glad you came,” Atarah said to him, so softly.

Oren looked down at her, smiling so openly, like she never saw him do before. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, “the world is bright again now that I see you.”

***

Introductions were made.

After Atarah had to deny a good fifty times that she was hurt and needed to be seen by a healer, Thalia had charmed her entire family before Oren had the chance to. Atarah noticed right away that Oren’s sister had a way to sway people to her side quite easily, for she was the happiest, bubbliest person she’d ever met. Atarah, too, became quickly enchanted with her, specially after Thalia confided: “I knew right away, when Oren spoke about you, that we’d be fast friends.”

It was true.

Her family weren’t difficult to sway, either. Oren was lovable, polite, and her parents were more in love with him than Atarah could have ever predicted. There was still a lot they didn’t know, and Atarah knew that they would need to hear the entire story someday. But now Oren was here, and it appeared that one dark cloud had gone from her very thunderous skies.

Little steps.

Even Ana fell under Oren’s spell almost as soon as she saw him. Atarah’s cheeks filled with warmth the moment her maid winked at her, mouthing, _Handsome._

Or something equivalent.

At the end of the night, Oren and his siblings, plus Raya, were assigned chambers. Thanking them for showing up, her family invited them all for breakfast the next day.

Oh, what a grand time that would be. So filled with questions, Atarah guessed.

It seemed they hadn’t gotten much time alone, and when the people soon began to go home, oblivious to everything that had happened outside in the gardens, Atarah and Oren found themselves walking hand-in-hand in the big hallways. She showed him her home like she’d always wanted to – her favourite places, the corners that had been perfect for hiding when she played with her siblings. She was dying to hear from him, how it had been with his father, but… they would have time to have that conversation.

Tonight, it seemed, Oren just wanted to focus on her.

They traded kisses underneath a large window, moonlight streaming in. He was so warm, and perfectly like she remembered him, that Atarah could feel herself slowly climbing out of that empty, dark hole she’d fallen into the past few days.

Oren walked her to her chambers, their hands swaying between them. His smile hadn’t disappeared yet. Her own jaw was beginning to hurt.

When Atarah opened her doors and walked in, she noticed Oren planted exactly where he’d been.

She gave out a soft laugh. “Are you scared to come in?”

Oren was blushing.

It was adorable.

Atarah shook her head, not believing the sight in front of her. An hour or so ago, he’d been close to a killing machine. Now, he was a blushing boy not knowing how to act when invited to his lover’s room for the first time.

She smiled, kissed his jaw, and said, “It’s alright, you can come see it.”

Candles were lit, and Atarah enjoyed watching his expression change as he walked around her room, seeing her things for the first time. Another curtain pulled up. Watching him, Atarah could barely believe this night had really happened. That she could have been pulled away from her family and him again. That things could have turned out terrible.

 _But they hadn’t_ , she reminded herself. _So don’t think about it._

Oren stopped near her window, where a dresser was pulled against the wall. On top, little trinkets stood. She approached him, and kissed his shoulder. She said, “This one was a gift from Luna.” She held the toy figurine in her hand. “The first time we met, we were still in our diapers. She gave me this toy, and I declared that she was to be my friend.”

Her mate breathed a laugh, and kissed her temple. “You _declared_ it? I can imagine your one-year-old self already declaring yourself to the world.”

He turned to her fully.

His arms slowly came to wrap around her frame, pulling her close. Atarah rested her forehead against his chest, feeling him breathe in and out.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” he whispered. “What you did back there…”

“I didn’t know I had it in me, after everything,” Atarah said.

Oren blinked, then looked down at her questioningly.

Atarah answered before he could put words to his confusion: “I’ve been… having nightmares. About Hylas.”

Oren didn’t seem to need any other explanation. “You know you’re not guilty, right?”

“I still killed someone, Oren,” she murmured.

No matter the reasons. His blood was on her hands.

And she would never forget it.

No matter how happy she got. It would always weigh in the back of her mind. And perhaps that would become easier to bear overtime, but…

Oren tilted her chin back slightly to look into her eyes. He knew there was nothing he could do or say to change her mind. Oren could always extend a hand, but it was her who had to climb out of that hole. And she would.

She would.

Eventually.

His lips touched hers again. And again. And again.

Atarah ran her hands along his arms, until they reached his shoulders. Her arms wrapped around his body, and she raised herself on her tiptoes, wanting to be as close to him as she could.

Oren pulled back first, breathing in softly. His forehead touched hers. “I wish you’d put some of that weight on me.”

“You know I won’t do that,” she whispered back.

She could feel him frown slightly, but Oren didn’t argue with her. He just held her.

He seemed to know what she needed everytime without her having to voice it.

And then-

“Have you any news?” Atarah asked. “About Eva?”

Oren visibly tensed. “No. You haven’t?”

“No,” Atarah shook her head. “I send a letter to Luna yesterday, but I received no answer.”

Silence dawned on them.

Oren breathed in, and pulled his mate close again. “It will be alright, sweetheart,” he told her.

Atarah rested her head on her mate’s chest. She could do nothing else – but believe him.

***

The High Lady and High Lord of the Night Court were terrifyingly beautiful.

The moment María was brought in front of them, the room was empty. She had no idea where Laelia and Nora had gone, but in that moment, every concern in her mind evaporated.

She’d seen nothing like them before.

Aidan’s father – Rhysand, she remembered – was so beautiful it hurt to look at him. It was the same feeling she oftentimes got whenever she looked at Aidan for too long. Midnight air and deep purple – _purple_ – eyes, a tunic of the deepest black, embroidered with small, inconspicuous silver details… he was otherworldly. They both were. The mother wore a simple fitted gown of deep, forest green – a green so dark that, at first, María’s eyes associated the colour with inky black. Her face was stark – soft, and freckled, but sharp. Kind yet cunning. Gentle yet ruthless.

María was very much aware of how tall they were.

And of… how small she was.

Looking into Rhysand’s eyes, María had a strange feeling that she’d met him once before, long ago. She couldn’t quite comprehend it, until Rhysand spoke.

“We’re very happy to meet you in person, María,” he said.

She’d heard that voice before.

_I’m not going to hurt you._

_Who are you?_

She must have stepped back, for Rhysand’s clear eyes flashed in worry. Aidan’s steady hand settled on the small of her back. Something hardened in Aidan, she noticed. He wasn’t happy.

With what, though?

María’s eyes stayed firmly planted on Rhysand as she murmured, “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Rhysand lowered his head in a curt nod. He said, “When you were attacked, María, and when Cassian brought you to the House of Wind, I was there, too.”

“Oh.”

Aidan was tense.

Rhysand explained, “I entered your mind.”

María blinked slowly. “Come again?”

Rhysand gave her a little apologetic smile. “Velaris has been guarded for thousands of years. More. There are old enchantments in these mountains. The portal had been closed on your side until the moment you breached it. It should have been impossible for you to cross it, specially on your own.” He breathed in. “Some of my kind can breach the minds of others. I’m one of those. When you were asleep, I managed to see the edge of your mind. I do realize how that sounds. It was wrong of me, and I do apologize most sincerely.” He did look guilty, María supposed. But she still couldn’t wrap her mind around everything she’d been told. To think that he’d been the face in her hazy dreams that day… that that comforting voice had belonged to him…“I can tell you that I saw nothing else. Your mind is…,” Rhysand allowed a small smile, “very well categorized. What is private is very firmly locked up.”

María cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“But I had to know if you’d brought someone else,” Rhysand murmured. “I had to know who you were, and what you were here for.”

She could understand it. Somewhat.

Still didn’t make it right.

“I understand,” María said slowly. “You were protecting your people.”

“I _am_ sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

María thought she could feel the glamour between them, then, allowing them to speak freely and understand each other. It had a certain…scent, she supposed. Like… a little metallic. Not like blood, or rusty metal, but a scent she couldn’t quite describe.

Or perhaps she was beginning to imagine things.

Aidan was still vaguely tense beside her. María felt his touch become a lot firmer on her body. Rhysand looked between the two before he said, “I asked Aidan to allow me to tell you the truth myself – I ask you, María, not to hold it against him, for not telling you.”

Aidan looked down at her.

She looked up at him.

She could see it clearly then – that was fear in his eyes.

Fear that she would blame him for it.

_Hate_ him for it.

María drew unconsciously closer to him. Considering his tense behaviour, she knew Aidan must have fought Rhysand before – when his father had told him that he’d slipped into her mind. Aidan hadn’t liked what his father had done.

“I was a stranger to you,” María said, turning to Rhysand. “I can comprehend it.”

A little relief shone through Aidan. She could feel it, bright as day.

But Feyre – she hadn’t met before.

She could see much of Aidan in her. His eyes, the shape of his smile, the freckles. He looked like his father in everything else.

The High Lady smiled kindly, and María was struck by the fondness those eyes showed her. Suddenly, Aidan’s speech from before made much more sense – it was like she could see how happy Feyre truly was.

Perhaps that was why María was propelled to speak: “For all that its worth, I’m not dangerous.” She looked at them both, hesitant to approach them, so she stood by Aidan. “I understand why you’d think so, but your secret is safe with me. My world is… very different from yours, and even if I did intend to tell others, they would never believe me. Not even my family.” She swallowed hard. “It’s too hard to believe.” She looked at Aidan once, and her heart gave a little jump. She looked back at his parents. “I would have no reason to hurt you, your people, your family, or Aidan. Less of all Aidan.”

Aidan pulled her closer, his hand tucked between her hip and her waist.

Feyre’s smile only grew. And when she spoke, her voice was the most enchanting sound she ever heard. She could see why the humans in this world were so hesitant to blend in with the Fae, and live amongst them. They had an allure that made it very difficult to look away.

“Of course,” Feyre said at last, nodding once. She approached María slowly, and the girl swore she saw shadows move with the High Lady.

Definitely imagining things.

“I hope you don’t think badly of us for taking our time to meet you,” she said gently, stopping close, but at a safe distance. She gave her son a pointed glance, though full of fondness. “My dearest son took his time to tell me the entire story.”

Aidan grinned. “Mother.”

Feyre met his eyes, but her smile saddened. “He was not himself, you know.” She turned to look at María. “For a few months, we felt like we couldn’t reach him – not even his brother could. We only got him back when you walked into his life, María.”

_Got him back?_

How much pain had he been in?

How much had he tried to hide it from everyone that cared for him, that pain, that… loneliness?

“And I’m sorry about what happened,” Feyre said, looking down at María’s wrist. “My niece tells me you were very brave.”

“Punched a grown Illyrian in the face and put him on his ass,” Aidan said, proudly. “I’d say she deserves a bit more credit.”

María bristled slightly. How many times would he have to say that?

The girl waved her good hand. “It was all the adrenaline, it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Aidan tsked.

María wanted to kiss his face.

She wanted him to stop being so fond over her, it was making her look all shy and ridiculously in love in front of his parents.

But Aidan seemed all too willing to make her blush, by the way he smiled with those sharp teeth.

And, well.

María was his willing prey.

***

“Holy shit.”

They all turned to look up at the top of the stairs, were a very stunned Laelia stood beside a very normal Nora. The Princess stared at the High Lady and High Lord like she was witnessing a rainbow for the first time.

“Are… are they…?” Laelia whispered to Nora, clearly trying to be inconspicuous and desperately failing.

Nora gave out a small, soft laugh, and nodded.

“Oh, Goddess,” Laelia said, her face still tinged multiple shades of green.

Rhysand, however, gave her a little smile. “Your Highness, I’ve heard much about you.”

“Oh,” Laelia said, clumsily walking down the stairs. “Oh, no. You have?”

Feyre’s smile mimicked her husband’s. “We were told you were here to speak with us. We’ll be glad to meet with you in my niece’s office. Would you accept?”

“Yes, yes, of course, sure,” Laelia stumbled through the words. “Ah… apologies for… you know, crossing the portal to your world without permission and all that.”

Rhysand smiled. “Word claims you raised your sword to protect my son and his mate.” He nodded curtly. “You are more than welcome in our world, Your Highness.”

“Laelia, please,” she murmured, blushing _only a little._

Don’t judge her harshly, reader.

If you’d been there, you’d be blushing, too.

Before Laelia could take another step, however, they all stopped at the sound of booming wings.

And then their eyes turned to the nearest balcony, where a winged male with midnight hair and blue eyes stood, his arm wrapped around a female with golden hair-

Laelia’s eyes almost fell out of their sockets.

Her heart dropped onto her stomach.

Luna’s gaze found hers only a second later.

They screamed at the same time.


	28. Chapter 28

“ _Where_ is my sister?”

Eldon was getting a little tired of being pushed against walls in darkened hallways without ever seeing it coming.

It took him less than two seconds to realize that the snarl had come from Amara herself. It took him even less time to understand that he was in a _lot_ of trouble.

So his basic instincts hadn’t failed him yet. Good to know.

Eldon blinked, regaining his balance, before he muttered, “Howlan snitched?”

“ _No_ ,” Amara said, closer to his face now, close enough that Eldon could see her eyes flash in the near darkness. “But I should have known that your brother was in on this. Where is she, Eldon?”

She shook him by his clothes, and Eldon gritted his teeth. He pushed her off him and said, “Calm down, will you?”

Amara looked ready for the exact opposite. As Eldon smoothed over his tunic, the oldest Princess looked from side to side, listening in for anyone who might have decided to take a night stroll. When the hallway was found empty, Amara snapped her gaze right back to the Lochan, quietly fuming, but trying to keep her voice low, “She’s been gone all day. The _entire_ day. You and Laelia better thank your lucky stars that mother and father have been on their feet all day, non-stop, or they might have started suspecting something-”

“Amara-”

“But you can’t fool me. I knew as soon as I saw that face of yours that something was wrong. You can’t lie for shit,” Amara said, crossing her arms. She shook her head, like a disapproving Goddess looking down on one of her idiot mortals. “I should have known. Ferran can’t lie, either.”

“You’re a little tense,” Eldon said, backing away a little, but his only means to escape was further into the wall, and Eldon hadn’t mastered the art of slipping through stone. _Yet_. “Considering you’ve been away from your mate for-”

“Do not, Eldon Lochan. Do. _Not_.” Amara raised a hand sternly. “Tell me where Laelia is.”

Eldon gulped. “You’ll kill me.” 

Amara’s eyes fluttered in shock and fear. “Oh, rutting Gods. What? What is it?”

Eldon couldn’t believe he was having this conversation for the second time that day. His brother’s words hadn’t left his mind ever since that morning.

_What if she doesn’t even find the fucking portal? What if she does find it and it doesn’t lead to Prythian, and it only leads her to a more dangerous world? What if she_ dies _?_

His brother’s questions had been fears of his own. Fears that had echoed in his mind throughout the day.

“Laelia asked me for the map to Prythian’s Portal.”

Amara visibly paled. “She didn’t. She wouldn’t.”

“She did,” said Eldon. “She has.”

The Princess backed away a step or two, brows furrowing.

Eldon breathed a sigh. “Amara, she would have done anything.” It was true – he’d seen how Laelia’s mind was set, there was no changing it. Laelia might be the quietest of them all, but in that aspect, she resembled her mother too much. “There was no changing her mind. I tried. I promise you I did.” And then he added, “You knew from the beginning of pushing her away from this was not going to help.”

The Lochan boy watched as the Princess of Terrasen leaned her back against the wall, as if she couldn’t hold her own weight. “I know what she is trying to do,” Amara whispered to the ceiling. “And she’s a fool for trying.”

Eldon hesitated. He knew he was already burning at the stake – he shouldn’t put more tinder in Amara’s hands, but before he could hold his tongue, the words slipped out, “Is she?”

Amara looked over at him, looking cross. “We don’t need an alliance with another world.”

“Why?” The damage was done – Eldon might as well voice the rest of his thoughts. “Why not?”

“What for?” Amara shot back, gesturing wildly. “It’s one thing to want your theory proven, Eldon, it’s another completely different thing to-”

“What about Luna?”

Amara’s mouth fell closed. She turned to Eldon fully, daring him to continue.

Turns out Eldon Lochan had a lot of stupid daring in him still. “You know she loves him. You were there when she told us about Seren, and you know how that is going to end, don’t you?”

“She won’t leave us,” Amara whispered, but her voice wobbled. Uncertainty embraced her words.

“Are you sure about that?” Eldon said. “Are you sure it’s not better to know them, to welcome them, instead of being fearful?”

“I’m not-”

“You are,” Eldon interrupted. “You are scared. All of you. How can we be better than those who hunt shifters and demi-Fae? Who hunt us? How can we be better if we keep… fearing others for being different?”

“Eldon,” Amara said, then checked her tone. “Eldon, this is about _opening worlds_. Our parents have fought with their lives, almost _lost_ their lives, actually, trying to keep our world safe. Why should we endanger it?”

“Because danger is always going to come to us, Amara.” Eldon, too, turned towards the Princess. “And because you know, just as I do, that you would do more than open up worlds to keep Luna here with us. You would make _treaties_. Your sister’s actions are… questionable, but her logic is right. Luna and Seren are the answer to connecting worlds, and that connection can bring us understanding, it can bring us prosperity, even, and it can bring us closer to knowing our history. I know, I feel it in my bones, Amara, that this is the right path to take. Ever since Luna teleported herself into Prythian, we knew that things were going to change. And they can keep changing – for the _better_.”

Amara gritted her teeth, though her eyes were thoughtful, far away. Considering.

“You’re our future Queen,” Eldon said. “You know better than I do that if we want to keep ourselves out of danger, we need to open our arms, and our minds, to Prythian.”

Amara shook her head then – at the subtle implication in Eldon’s words. “They can’t… they can’t put us in danger. Luna didn’t know what she was doing. It’s not her fault that she ended up there, breaching their territory-”

“Right,” said Eldon, matter-of-factly. “But in the off chance that they do, won’t it be better to form a relationship first? To have our intentions of peace known?” He sighed. “Your sister knew she would be the only one willing to take that step. Don’t think her foolish. Laelia is more capable than you think.”

Amara was silent for a very long time, and even though her face remained cautious and her eyes wary, Eldon knew that, to a certain degree, Amara understood. Their world was everchanging, and they needed to change with it. They could not rule like their parents ruled, much like their parents could not rule like the old Kings and Queens ruled.

Change was inevitable.

The only thing left to do was welcome it.

“Do you think…” The Princess started, then sighed, before continuing: “Do you think Luna would really leave us… for him? To be in his world?”

Eldon smiled slightly. “If it was Ferran, wouldn’t _you_ consider that?”

The Lochan boy found his answer in Amara’s soft smile. But she still said, “Yes. Yes, I would.” A pause. “Is that selfish?”

“No,” Eldon said, just as softly, shrugging, as if he knew anything of the matter. “No, it’s just love.”

***

“You?”

“ _You_?”

Luna was thankful her mate had a steady hand at her elbow – she was unsure whether her legs could keep her standing for much longer.

Laelia was standing right in front of her. In _leathers_. Her light hair had come half undone from her tight braids, and her colouring looked odd, sickly, as if she’d had the fright of her life-

Luna was advancing towards her before she thought anything through, before she even took notice of the unfamiliar faces around the room. She didn’t even get a chance to cross the balcony, for Laelia already had her arms around Luna’s shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. The Princess was a few inches taller than Luna, and her shoulders obscured Luna’s view of the room.

But Luna was much too preoccupied with the fact that Laelia Whitethorn Galathynius, the Princess of Terrasen, was standing right there, in her mate’s world, away from home-

“Laelia,” Luna said urgently, pulling back.

“You’re here,” Laelia was saying, a little breathless. “They said you were here, but _actually_ seeing you is so-”

“Laelia,” Luna tried.

“-and I have so much to tell you, and I’m so glad you’re here, and Luna, you look so beautiful, and… are you glowing?”

“Laelia!”

“Yes,” the Princess straightened. “Sorry, yes, what?”

Luna felt herself pale.

She smelled blood – on Laelia.

“How did you get here?” Luna asked, her voice too soft, too low. “Whose blood is that?”

Laelia began fidgeting, which was never a good sign. The girl could lie as well as Luna could fly, and that was saying something.

“Laelia,” Luna gritted her teeth.

“I think we have introductions to make before I dive into explanations,” Laelia said nervously, and pulled back to reveal the rest of the room.

Luna halted.

She’d been so beyond herself at the sight of Laelia that she’d barely taken a look around the room. From the double doors of the balcony, Luna saw two figures standing at the far right, looking curious and yet… all knowing, almost.

The male with midnight hair and stark eyes-

Luna had no doubt about it – he was Seren’s father. It was clear as day. She saw Seren in every detail of that beautiful face. That was Seren’s mouth, curving into a polite, gentle smile. Those eyes – they were the shape of Seren’s eyes, though the colour was starkly different. It reminded Luna of tinted-purple skies at dusk. The female had the most beautiful face Luna had ever laid eyes on – and there. Seren’s eyes. That baby blue she’d grown to love, her clear skies, her deep sea.

“O-Oh,” Luna whispered, unable to turn her eyes away from them both. 

Her mate’s presence filled the room then, and Luna felt a little less faint with him standing beside her.

“Mother,” Seren said gently, placing a hand on Luna’s lower back. “We scented you all – I had a feeling that something was wrong. What happened?”

The female shook her head. “Your brother and his mate were intercepted in Ramiel. The Princess of Terrasen,” she gestured toward Laelia, “was with them.”

“ _What_.” Seren’s head snapped to his brother, his eyes widening when he saw the girl next to him. Luna noticed her too. She was a small figure amongst them all, and her big hazel eyes jumped between everyone in the room as if she was trying to figure out which pieces of the puzzle fit together. Luna noticed the closeness between them – Seren’s brother, almost a replica of Seren, had an arm held out in front of the girl, looking weary and as surprised as Luna surely did.

“Intercepted,” Seren repeated, his body tensing next to her. “Aidan, _what_ happened?”

Aidan dismissed him with a wave. “It’s being taken care of, brother.”

Like Luna, Seren then took notice of the human girl’s bandaged wrist. His eyes hardened as he looked up at Aidan again. “You were attacked?”

“Cassian is taking care of it,” Aidan insisted.

Luna blinked. _Intercepted_. Laelia with them.

Luna’s eyes met Laelia’s. The Princess shook her head discreetly. _Later_ , her gaze seemed to say.

Then Seren shook off his unease, his worry – or at least tried to, - and said, with a curt nod, “María.” And Luna didn’t miss the knowing smile on his face as his gaze travelled to the human girl. Of course, he’d already told her of Aidan’s human mate, but Luna hadn’t quite imagined the girl to look so… fragile. Though she had every reason to, she did not look afraid, her soft features contorted in a slight frown as she looked up at Seren.

“Have we met, as well?” The girl said. A strong voice. A very strange pronunciation of the words, however. Luna blinked, and her nose picked up the scent of magic in the room, and without considering it twice, she knew what it was: glamour magic. 

Luna looked up at Seren, the same question in her eyes. Seren smiled at her briefly, before saying to the human girl, “When Cassian brought you to the House of Wind, I was there.” Seren’s smile grew as he shot his brother a look full of amusement. “I was there to prevent my brother from trying to kill Cassian. Your mate had a little panicked moment and thought _our uncle_ harmed you. At some point, I thought he’d try to strangle _me_.”

Aidan looked very uncomfortable. His jaw set as his gaze met his brother’s. He’d gently pulled María closer to him. “She didn’t need to know _that_ detail.”

“You almost killed your uncle?” The girl gasped.

Aidan looked ready to die. “I wasn’t trying to _kill_ him,” he said stiffly. “He’s clearly exaggerating.”

“You had your death face on,” Seren pointed out. “Father was there, he can confirm it.”

“I’m not getting involved,” his father said from the corner, his voice like a midnight breeze – soft, warm. It shook Luna to hear him, to see that smile he was trying to fight.

“I don’t have a death face,” Aidan snarled.

Luna almost elbowed her mate’s ribs – it wasn’t kind to provoke his brother for his amusement. She had no doubt that Seren would get something twice as worse as retaliation.

“You do,” Seren smirked. “You’re doing it right now.” He then turned to María. “Don’t mind that, María, he’s all bark and no teeth.”

Luna actually heard Aidan’s teeth snapping. “You’re not being funny, brother,” Aidan warned. “Be quiet or I _will_ show you teeth.”

“Aidan,” María whispered, a little sternly. “That’s not nice.”

A flush appeared on his neck, quickly rising to his cheeks.

That put him in his place.

Luna looked up to see Seren smirking at his brother’s mate, absolutely triumphed.

Neither of the brothers seemed to realize the knowing smile their parents shared.

Too quickly, Aidan’s eyes turned to _her_. Luna raised a brow as he analysed her. “Luna.” 

His tone was nothing short of teasing. _Mischievous_ , even. Oh, he’d heard about her, alright. But she’d heard about him, too. “Aidan,” she said, mimicking his tone.

Luna had never been able to peek into the future, much to her dismay, but she could tell in that moment, as Aidan smiled at her, that they would be great friends.

Seren’s hand curved around her waist, and then Luna was faced with the beautiful female and the astonishing male – his parents. High Lady and High Lord of Prythian. Luna took a deep breath, trying not to succumb to the need to move closer to her mate.

“Mother, father,” Seren said, his voice full of tenderness, full of love. Her heart gave a little jump as both of them smiled at her. “This is my mate, Luna.”

_Goddess above._

The word, and the heavy feeling it carried, never ceased to baffle her.

“Luna,” Feyre smiled, her freckled cheeks almost glowing. “We’ve also been waiting to meet you.”

_Also_.

Luna peeked at the small girl next to Aidan, and smiled, though before she could reply, Rhysand stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s back, and said, “It’s made me very happy – to meet both of my son’s mates today. Luna, María, you are very welcome here.”

Luna blushed scarlet, and wasn’t able to hide it. Not from Seren – not from anyone in the room. “Thank you,” she said softly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Seren told me the most wonderful things about you.”

“Wait,” Aidan interjected. “He talked about _anything_ else but himself?”

Seren snarled softly, playfully. “Fly off a ditch.”

“Bite me,” Aidan said.

“Behave,” Feyre warned, widening her eyes at both of them. 

Luna smiled up at her, and the same premonition she had about Aidan, in that moment, she had with Feyre, too.

Laelia stepped beside her then, wrapping her arm around Luna’s. “You like the flying?”

Luna breathed a laugh. “Eh,” she shrugged.

Laelia still looked vaguely green. “It’s something I could live without.”

***

“My mate, my love, my Eva.”

Crying took so much strength. Strength she didn’t have. But Ragnar kept kissing her face, kept his arms around her, kept telling her how much he loved her-

The tempest inside her mind could wait.

Her exhaustion could wait.

Eva took hold of his cheeks, looking into his eyes. Those dark eyes, so full of emotion, so beautiful… how many times in her life had she tried and failed to draw them? To captivate their essence and beauty? How many times had she fallen asleep dreaming of those dark depths looking into hers? How many times had she avoided them after a screaming match, knowing perfectly well that if she dared to meet them, her resolve would crumble, and she would crumble, and every feeling for him that she’d spent years hiding would come rushing to the surface for Ragnar to see.

“I thought…” she breathed, as he wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with two careful, loving thumbs, “I thought you would never realize…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, gentle – the voice he used before she fell asleep. It held no judgement and no anger and no frustration. Just curiosity. And so much love.

“I was afraid,” Eva said. “I was afraid you were holding back for someone else-”

He kissed the harsh truth from her lips, tasting her, remaking her in that one moment. Whatever Vanserra had broken, whatever part of her had felt hollow and empty, Eva Ashryver had found it at last.

“You,” he said against her mouth, “you mad, beautiful female.”

“I might be,” Eva whispered, eyes still closed as she felt his lips touch both sides of her mouth. “But that was my biggest fear. That you’d want me in every way – but not like that.”

“I was yours before you invited me to your bed, Ashryver,” Ragnar confessed. “I was yours when we were younglings and you screamed at me for marking a passage of a book by creasing the edge of the page. I was yours when you laughed at me for the first time for not being able to say _literature_ correctly. I’ve been yours our entire lives,” Ragnar kissed her brow, before looking down at her. “I knew before the bond crashed into me. I knew I would love you in a thousand different ways.” Ragnar smiled at her. “First, as my competition.” His lips touched her temple with a hint of a playful smile, thinking of that brilliant, beautiful mind of hers. “Then, as my enemy.” A wider smile at that, as he brushed his nose with hers, a little teasingly. “As my friend,” he whispered, lips lowering to her cheek. “As my lover.” He pulled back, just slightly, to look into her eyes. “As my mate.” He leaned down to kiss her again, and Eva had already been struggling to regain her breath – now, she was holding on to him as if he was her only lifeline. Her arms fell slack at her sides, aching, but Ragnar held her to him, his lips moving in time with hers in a slow, wonderful, blissful kiss, a kiss that could surely cure any curse, ease any pain. He pulled back softly after only a moment, saying close to her mouth, “As my everything.”

Eva opened her eyes, looking up at him, trying her hardest to keep the tears to herself. “Only you would do this to me while I’m at my most vulnerable point,” she whispered, and Ragnar let out a breath that sounded like an exasperated laugh, pulling her ever so close. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ragnar paused for only a second, but long enough that Eva searched his eyes. He said, “Part of me wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me. And maybe a very, very small part of me enjoyed listening to you whisper my name in your sleep.”

“Oh, no,” Eva said, resting her forehead against his chest. Ragnar laughed once more. “What did I say?”

“All types of beautiful things.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he said, so softly. Ragnar brushed her dark hair away from her face, tugging it behind her ears. “Sometimes you called me _mate_. Other times you asked me where I was, and when I told you that I was right there, you held me so desperately that I was almost sure you were awake.”

Eva said nothing. 

She wouldn’t deny it.

What was the point of it, now?

Ragnar brushed a kiss on top of her head. “Ashryver, I have to bandage you. You’re bleeding.”

He couldn’t see it under the robe, but he could certainly smell it.

Eva forced herself to pull back from him. Ragnar tilted her chin up, “I told you that when this was over, we would talk. When you’re healed, when that motherfucker downstairs gets what he deserves, _then_ …” Ragnar leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose. “Then I have a lot to say to you, Ashryver.”

Eva’s mind was colourful.

She pictured a white cottage.

A ring on her finger.

All they had talked about.

She didn’t dwell on it much, because before she knew it, Ragnar was carrying her back to the bathing chambers. Ointments and bandages had been left there, and Eva crinkled her nose at the pungent smell inside the glass containers.

Ragnar was silent as he undressed her again. His eyes didn’t linger on her scars, but Eva could see how angry it made him. Neither of them had ever had much self-control or discipline over their emotions, so it was a wonder that Ragnar managed to keep it all in – for her sake.

But- 

_He knew._

Her heart no longer felt heavy with dread. Before, Eva had pictured a thousand different ways in which Ragnar left her, and she had imagined another thousand ways to cope with it. She’d told him the truth – part of her had feared that Ragnar would not wish for a mating bond, not even with her. Especially not with her.

It killed her, just thinking about it.

Despite all their arguments over the years, and their inability to see eye-to-eye often times, Eva’s mind had always been set, even before she’d known it. Her heart had recognized that Ragnar was hers and she was his, and no matter what his decision was, Eva would feel the same for a long time, if not her entire life.

Watching him now rub the ointments on her skin with careful hands, his face thoughtful, distracted, Eva was convinced that only _one_ thing could tear her away from him.

Himself.

But now, being pretty certain that Ragnar wanted her as she wanted him, Eva tried to push away every lingering doubt and fear in the back of her mind. Perhaps that’s why she told him, so softly, “I still want to talk to him.”

Ragnar’s jaw hardened. His eyes did, too.

He said nothing.

He went to cut the bandages, as Eva stood there, watching him.

“I’m fine with talking to him,” she whispered. “I need to do it. I need closure.”

Ragnar breathed in through his nose, and knelt in front of her, wrapping a thick bandage over her thigh. “Alright,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

She touched his hair gently, and Ragnar looked up. Eva said, “Don’t worry for me.”

“Might as well tell me not to breathe, Ashryver.”

Eva bit her cheek. “If I need you, I’ll call for you. You know I will.”

Ragnar shook his head, almost to himself. He tied the bandage on her leg tightly, and Eva flinched slightly. He kissed the top of her thigh, right over the bandage and said, “No, you won’t. You won’t need me.”

Eva didn’t get a chance to speak, for he continued: “Compromise, then. Like you said to Dorian. Rest today. Meet him later.”

Eva’s stopped her foot from tapping in impatience. She could give him this much. “Okay.”

Ragnar kissed her cheek, and went back to his work.

There were a lot more scars to treat.

***

She did what she promised him – spent the day in bed, eating, drinking every cup of water that was brought to her lips. Changed her bandages one more time. Slept with Ragnar by her side, almost every hour of that day.

But when the sun fell, Eva opened her eyes.

Ragnar had fallen asleep since he changed her bandages for the second time, and hadn’t stirred since. Eva knew that he’d spent hours upon hours watching over her, refusing to sleep. His body had finally given in to exhaustion.

She almost cursed him for it – for ignoring his needs for her sake. But she found that she couldn’t.

She would have done the exact same.

The Princess of Terrasen slipped from the bed, surprisingly agile for her condition. She left her mate softly snoring, and didn’t look back.

“Take me to Viktor Vanserra,” Eva ordered the guard stationed outside her chambers.

The male nodded once. “Yes, Your Highness.”

***

Laelia took her time to introduce herself, her family, and her world.

They’d sat in an illuminated office, the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the view of the city to her right. Rhysand and Feyre were as informal as could be, and Laelia was taken aback by how warmly they welcomed her. They knew, somehow, that they should not fear her, as she didn’t fear them.

It eased her, only a little.

Luna sat by her left side, surprisingly relaxed. Seren on Luna’s other side, him, too, smiling. Laelia hadn’t failed to notice how happy they both looked – especially how radiant Luna looked. It had been a long, long time since Laelia had seen that smile on her friend’s face, and for a staggering moment, Laelia felt the odd need to hug Seren and thank him.

The female that had taken care of her and that had left her feeling dizzier than the flight itself – Nora, was her name – had excused herself before Laelia had the chance to follow Rhysand and Feyre to their niece’s office. The Princess had felt a little knot at her stomach at seeing the curly-haired female leave, beautiful wings spreading to propel her into the skies, and an overall discomfort settled over her – she had no explanation for it.

But – she’d analyse that later.

Now, there were things to be discussed.

Laelia spoke like the diplomat she was raised to be. She’d never had any intention of running for the throne, and had said as much since a very early age. It had felt too big of a responsibility, but her parents had insisted that Laelia get the same education Amara did, nevertheless. Laelia was secretly grateful, now. Without all those boring classes, she wouldn’t have felt capable of taking that step that day.

Her mother would be upset.

Her father… perhaps he wouldn’t. Perhaps he’d admire her for what she was doing. But Aelin would not let this go easily. She’d insisted that Laelia stay out of this, and Laelia had blatantly disobeyed them both. Rowan might understand. Aelin… Laelia wasn’t so sure.

But Laelia was prepared to take on whatever might come. She knew, deep in her bones, that this was the right choice. And right choices could not be left to be done later.

Feyre and Rhysand listened on, nodding along, and when Laelia told them about the threat in her world, Rhysand’s eyes had shown an emotion Laelia hadn’t seen in them before. She wondered at that, until he said, as if he could hear her thoughts, “We understand more than you might think, Laelia.”

She spoke of peace.

She gestured toward Seren and Luna, the ones who had, involuntarily or not, brought two worlds together. And Laelia was more than relieved when she saw Rhysand’s gentle smile. Even when he said, “We have been discussing the same thing for the past few days.” His gaze travelled to Luna and Seren’s clasped hands, and his smile widened, before looking over at Laelia once more. “I wondered, when I saw you, why it was you, Laelia, and not the Queen visiting my world.” His eyes took a sombre darkness then, as he replayed Laelia’s tale of the hunt for shifters and demi-fae. “Now I understand. I’m very sorry.”

Laelia nodded once, grateful for his understanding. “I have no doubt in my mind that my mother would be delighted to meet you both, to discuss the conditions of this… new world.” Laelia smiled. “We vow to protect Velaris, too, High Lord, as you’ve told me you’ve spent generations doing so. In return, I believe that our people could ultimately see a High Lord and High Lady of Prythian standing side by side with the Queen of Terrasen, and it would show those who choose to stand with hatred, that not even different worlds shall give in to suspicion, or prejudice. It would be a lesson. And…” Laelia sighed happily, turning to look over at Seren and Luna, “… we wouldn’t have to be so distant anymore.”

Seren and Luna met eyes, and Seren nuzzled her temple, smiling as Luna squeezed his hand.

Laelia’s heart filled with hope. Specially as Feyre said, “My home will always be open to you, Laelia, and to your family. For raising your sword for my son, and for taking the time to reach out to us.”

Laelia couldn’t have grinned wider.

Of all her predictions of how this meeting would go… this had sounded like a complete dream. And the reality was… she was rather fond of Seren and his parents – even Aidan, who she’d become better acquainted back in the mountain. Nothing like being in mortal peril to bring people together.

“Forgive me for saying this,” Laelia said after a pause, a smile still playing on her lips. “But you didn’t seem surprised to see me.”

Feyre and Rhysand shared a look, and Laelia didn’t fail to notice the slight amusement there. Feyre bowed her head and said, “My sister is a seer. Minutes before we were called here, she saw you.”

“You saw me coming?” Laelia asked in awe. That explained their easy nature. Her arrival hadn’t come as a surprise to anyone but Aidan, Seren, and Luna.

Speaking of Luna – she no longer looked outraged at Laelia’s arrival. Laelia guessed that she would hear from her friend, too, but for now, Luna was just as glad that Laelia had taken this step as the Princess was.

“We did,” Rhysand nodded.

“Elain didn’t see much else,” Feyre explained. “But she saw you, only you, and your heart.” The High Lady of the Night Court smiled warmly. “We knew we had nothing to fear from you.”

Laelia smiled back, just as warmly.

At last, a piece of good news. Laelia would not only return home with the beginnings of what would certainly be an everlasting alliance – but with the triumph that, at last, she was able to prove herself able of doing something good for her family.

***

The moment Nora Archeron took to the skies, her mind whirled with anxiousness. She knew the feeling all too well.

And she didn’t like it one bit.

But what was it about? That girl, the Princess?

Surely not – the girl was not bad news, that much was clear. Her mother, too, had known it. Had seen it. So… nothing to do with the girl with the shiny hair and wonderstruck eyes.

Nora would begin by pushing away the thought of those eyes, and the rather overwhelming feeling they brought upon her, so she could start figuring out what was wrong with her.

Unable to keep steady on her wings any longer, Nora took a slight detour and instead headed north, wings catching the wind, taking her down, down, down, until her feet landed on an empty cobblestoned street. The Sidra stood a few streets away, and Nora decided that her head needed clearing – there wasn’t a better place to do that.

As she strolled through the streets, wondering at its emptiness in the middle of a sunny day, Nora felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand up. Now-

She was not a small female, mind you.

Nora was tall, athletic, warrior-like. She’d been trained practically since birth by her father, so fear was not something that usually took her by surprise. Fear was ultimately the force that drove her. Not the feeling that stopped her in her tracks.

She did stop, though.

“Who are you?” Nora asked without turning.

A breeze flew by, carrying with it the scent of pine trees and citrus. She breathed it in, and then-

Before she could react, a figure immerged from the shadows. A few steps away, a couple walked out, hand-in-hand, from a flower shop. Nora hesitated. Their backs were turned, so she followed the figure into the empty alleyway, her heart beating out of her chest, that incessant pull driving her forward, always forward, wherever that figure wanted her to go.

“Stop,” Nora said suddenly, realizing they had reached a dead end. A raven sat perched on top of the pastel building, looking down at them both. Well. Looking down at _her_.

The figure stopped, turned. Nora was staring at a male – a human male, at that. His brown hair curled over his eyes, and he looked young, much too young to be-

“Hello,” Nora said tentatively. She always began this way. She didn’t know this man, but she knew enough to understand that any harsh sounds could easily frighten him. They were always a little frightened. “Who are you?”

The figure didn’t speak.

Nora swallowed hard. That anxiousness – it hadn’t belonged to her. Not at all. Her mind had been consumed with the Princess’ eyes, her soft words of gratitude after Nora had helped her. That fear inside her had swallowed her almost instantly – it had been _him_.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Nora said gently. “I’m here to help you. You called to me.”

The man’s eyes – also a deep brown – looked away. Nora narrowed her eyes, trying to see… trying to make sense of who he was. He was dressed like a nobleman, but Nora didn’t recognize the colours, nor the symbols. He was an enigma. By the look of him, the man was no older than twenty-five years old, max.

When he finally dared to look at Nora, she saw a decision being made in his tortured eyes. A decision to reveal himself.

So Nora asked again, “Who are you?”

And the man murmured, “My name is Leander. Leander Westfall.”

***

“Aren’t you supposed to be in there?” María whispered, afraid of being heard by the others. She still didn’t quite know how powerful Fae hearing actually was. The only example she had was Aidan, and he missed practically nothing.

She was beginning to think that the only reason Aidan wasn’t there was because of her, and María was about to tell him that she wouldn’t mind, at all, when he told her, “I wanted to show you my world, before you have to leave. And besides, my brother will report back to me afterwards.” He’d taken her hand, asked her whether she wanted to go eat something, and María was intrigued enough to say yes. That also sounded like such a human activity.

She was trying to figure out the strange parallels between them and the humans as she knew them. When Aidan asked her if she wanted to go eat, he literally meant taking her to a local pastry shop to buy sweets.

It could have been a regular human afternoon.

Perhaps she would have to stop picturing potion shops and mushroom rings.

The streets of Velaris had something magical about them. María couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling she got as she walked through the cobblestoned streets hand-in-hand with Aidan. The moment they’d stepped out of Naza’s townhouse, however, she noticed him glamouring his wings.

At her questioning glance, Aidan told her, “They draw a lot of attention to myself,” and winked.

Indeed – from what she’d seen of Seren, it was clear that Aidan was not the show-off brother. But that small statement had her questioning herself, and even as she was busy taking everything in – the calm streets, the marvellous shops, the wonderful smells…

María still asked, so low, “Won’t other Fae… notice _me_?”

“Maybe.”

Aidan didn’t seem to find anything wrong with that. In fact, he looked quite pleased. Giddy, even.

María tried again, “What if they find me strange?”

Aidan paused, then looked down at her, as if finally realizing- “They won’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “But I bet they’ll still think-”

“They’ve no reason to,” Aidan cut in, squeezing her hand gently. “They’ll be too concerned with their own lives. Besides, it’s not that odd to see a human amongst them. Perhaps in other courts. But not here.”

Reassured, but still slightly nervous, María walked close to him, frequently asking questions that Aidan looked excited to answer. All the streets looked exactly the same, and María found herself lost almost immediately. Aidan walked blindly, for his eyes were usually turned to her, talking about his city’s most interesting details. María tried to absorb it all, and take it all in, but part of her still felt as if she was quietly daydreaming. It still felt like she’d spent the last few days between the pages of a book.

And she was unusually calm for someone who had been attacked three times in a short amount of time.

Perhaps the breakdown would come when she returned home.

But for now-

For now, Aidan was close, and he kept squeezing her hand to try and get her attention, and he smiled at her, and sunlight lived in those baby blue eyes that María couldn’t get enough of, and for a moment, everything was alright.

Everything was more than alright.

Aidan stopped at the bakery he was talking about, and María tried and failed to read the sign at the door. It looked like it had been written in chalk. She never got a chance to have Aidan translate, because then he walked inside, and she trailed after him, anxious and deliriously excited to see and smell everything.

Human curiosity was a funny thing. It often came accompanied with intense fear, or a little anxiety, but the moment Aidan walked inside that little shop with her, everything about her nervousness just… calmed.

It almost smelled familiar.

Three friends sat on the farthest table, chatting among themselves. María discreetly watched them over her mate’s shoulder, interested in the way that they spoke, and moved. Aidan’s glamour hadn’t reached them, so María couldn’t understand a thing. It almost sounded like they were softly singing. For a moment, she almost asked him to take down the glamour so she could hear those melodious sounds from his voice, too.

But Aidan was already speaking.

“Bran!”

“My Lord!” Said the male named Bran behind the counter. María smiled at their enthusiasm, though her eyes kept drifting to the male’s very pink ears, and the fox-like fur at the tip of them. And his eyes – the colour of deep charcoal, unsettling and beautiful, settled on her then. María shied from his gaze, but smiled as best and as politely as she could.

Aidan whispered loudly to her, “Bran refuses to call me by my given name, even though he’s known me since I was a youngling.”

Bran laughed at the jest, and shrugged, “I could never, my Lord. Your Lady Mother has also asked me to call her by her name many times, and I could never do it. And who do we have here?” Bran leaned over the balcony, his pointy features pointing right at her.

María smiled, and murmured a soft, “Hello.” Hoping to God that Aidan would step in if words failed her.

Eventually, he did. “Bran,” said Aidan proudly. “This is María.”

Bran fake-whispered, “She’s very beautiful.”

María blushed bright red, and both males turned to her. “She is,” Aidan murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. María refrained from hiding her face on his chest, and simply tapped his arm as if to say, _Don’t do this to me_. “María, this is Bran – he’s the best baker in all of Velaris. He’ll get you anything you want.”

“Sweet, sour and savoury, my Lady,” Bran smiled wide. “My husband tells me the biscuits are the best, but if they aren’t your favourite thing, I can get you one of each.”

“You’re very kind,” María chuckled, entertained and a little overwhelmed at being called _Lady_. “Actually, I’m… very new here. I wouldn’t know what to choose,” she shot Aidan a look. “What do _you_ like?”

“My Lord has the sweetest tooth in this city,” Bran told her. 

“Indeed,” Aidan snorted loudly. “Bran has not made a pastry I haven’t liked.” He pulled María closer, and pointed with his chin to the shelves. “Can I get you one of those?”

He pointed at the most delicious-looking little cake she’s ever seen. A row of strawberries lined the inside, and her mouth watered. “Yes, please.”

Bran looked like the happiest male she’d ever laid eyes on. As he walked to their table, he _skipped_ , and he smiled kindly at her, at everyone, really. When he placed the food down, he went over to the three friends from before, and chatted away in a language she didn’t know.

Aidan was watching her watching them. María’s eyes focused on him, and she found him gazing at her with so much tenderness, that her heart gave out a little.

“I’m… so fascinated with everything and everyone here,” she admitted.

Aidan reached over for her hand, and María allowed their fingers to entwine. A strange electricity almost made her jump. That lightning inside her veins again…

Aidan murmured, “I’m glad you like it. I so wanted you to like it.”

“Were you afraid I wouldn’t?”

Aidan hesitated. “Not afraid. I was… wondering whether it would frighten you.”

María smiled. “It doesn’t frighten me.”

Her bad wrist rested on her lap, the bandage still visible over the table. Aidan’s eyes instantly fell on it, and his face soured a little.

María leaned over, and placed a gentle kiss on the centre of his lips. Surprised, yet delighted, Aidan’s eyes fluttered as she pulled back.

She simply said, “Don’t think about it. I’m not thinking about it now, and you shouldn’t either.”

Aidan’s thumb caressed her hand, but he said nothing, choosing to try to push away the anger he felt at those who hurt them. María cleared her throat, intending on helping him, but a theory knocked time and time again on the doors of her mind. “I’ve been wondering something.”

“Do tell.”

She paused. “My reaction was not normal.” She gestured toward her wrist. “I’ve never been prone to violence. Actually, I’ve never been comfortable talking so freely with strangers as I did talking to you.” A pause. “Do you think the bond would… make me feel more sensitive in that way towards you?”

Aidan took a moment to think it through. Then, he said, “It’s certainly possible. You reacted on impulse – and what’s most bizarre to me is that you acted mostly because you were angry that someone had intended to hurt me, and obviously partly to help yourself. It’s not so bizarre for us – we’re a territorial species, in case you haven’t noticed.” He laughed as his thumb opened her palm, and he traced the lines there. She shivered. He noticed. Aidan’s eyes flashed at that reaction, and María’s mouth went dry. Aidan quickly continued, “I’m not sure how it would work for you, and the only example I have is my aunt Nesta and my uncle Cassian, as well as my parents. Sometimes they are able to sense their mate near, and they often act on impulse when their mate is in danger. I’ve seen my aunt Nesta tear down mountains too many times,” Aidan laughed softly. “But it’s not abnormal, no. Perhaps something inside you knew, back then.”

When they met.

“I think I might… feel portions of your feelings.” She frowned. “Back there, in the townhouse, I felt annoyance – it was all you. I had no reason to be annoyed at your brother.”

Aidan blinked, then raised his brows slightly. “You were able to feel that?”

María paused. “Yes.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Does that happen, too?”

“Yes,” Aidan said, still surprised. “Often, really. I’ve been able to distinguish your feelings from my own minutes after I met you, too. That was one of the reasons that made it more believable to me that you and I were…” He searched for words, and then realized there was no other way to say it, “mated.”

“It takes a while to get used to,” she said. “So, if you’re ever hurt-“

“You’ll most likely feel it, even far away, even in your world.”

María breathed in. “Oh,” she said. “What about… other emotions?”

Aidan shrugged, and smiled. “Mates are only able to feel each other’s emotions when they’re strongly connected. Imagine you had rejected me.”

María shuddered suddenly – and she guessed it was both her reaction and his. She whispered, “I would have rejected you in every way, then.”

“Exactly,” said Aidan. “Don’t humans…”

“No,” María said, and couldn’t help but laugh softly. “No, half the time we’re struggling to understand each other.” A pause. “It appears you and I have no trouble with that.”

Aidan smiled, leaning in and kissing her knuckles. “I agree.”

And then he lifted his eyes, still holding on to her hand, but something in them changed as he looked over María’s shoulders – toward the door.

“What…”

María didn’t get to ask, for in that moment, Nora burst into the shop, looking pale and agitated.

Aidan looked at his cousin, then widened his eyes slightly. His hand didn’t let go of María’s. “What happened to you?”

Nora blinked three times, before murmuring, her voice so low that María struggled to hear her. “I’m sorry to burst in, I caught your scent…”

“What is it?” Aidan then seemed to understand – something in his cousin’s face told him. “Nora, who did you see this time?”

Nora ran a hand down her face. “You’re not going to believe me.”

***

Vanserra was being held in a solitary cell.

Eva saw the others – some she recognized – as she walked through the dungeons of Adarlan. Most of them were empty, save for those who’d attacked her that day. They sneered, but when Eva showed her teeth, they quieted down.

The guard led her two stories below, and that’s where she found him.

Vanserra looked like shit.

A male ruined.

What had once been a shiny face, now all she could see were defeated eyes. He didn’t seem surprised to see her, not at all, and even spat on the ground near her feet.

Eva smiled.

“Leave us,” she asked the guard.

“But,” the male began, “Your Highness…”

“It’s alright,” Eva said softly, keeping her calm, so the male would believe her. Bowing, he left at last.

Vanserra spoke first – he was still a fan of the dramatic first words, it seemed. “You got what you wanted. The people are screaming for you outside. Demanding justice for you.” He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the stones. “Your little… _show_ convinced them. How does it feel to play the weak one, Princess? How does it feel to lie and deceive for your own gain?”

“You tell me,” Eva drawled. “You’ve been doing it for years.” Her smile remained. “Where are your costumes now, Viktor? Where are your fake names, your charming smiles, your crew?”

“Oh, they’re out there…”

“Yeah,” Eva said. “Not for long, though.” Her grin grew. “I’ll find them all, one by one. And I’ll see if it humours me to drag them by their hairs to stand in front of my Queen. Or Perhaps I’ll end them on the spot.” She shrugged. “I see they healed your legs. Been takin’ lots of strolls, lately?”

“ _Fuck you_.” He spat. “Devil.”

“Devil is a surprisingly complementary insult to me,” Eva said, taking two steps toward his cell. “Want to know why?” Eva squatted down, so she was eye-to-eye with Viktor. He’d been sitting on the floor, unable to move. Though his legs were bandaged, she doubted he could even stir. His eyes were so full of hatred as he gazed at her, and Eva smiled, feeding on that hatred. “I’m not kind, Viktor. I’m not kind at all. I’m the monster you saw. Merciless. And selfish, too. So selfish. I would ravage nations if they dared to threaten my family or my mate. I will see this world to its last spin before I allow anyone else to try and come for me or them. I’m not afraid to kill you, Viktor. I can live with it, you know I can.” She tapped her fingers on her knee, entertained by the horror in his eyes. “In that sense, I’m a little like you. You’ve killed people like me and like my family for years. Destroyed families and took lives as if you are a God. I’ve tough news to give you.” She grabbed onto his cell so quick that he jumped. She said, “If you’re a God, then I’m the universe. Remember, Viktor. I will always be three, four, a thousand steps ahead of you, _above_ you. When you think you have me, take a second guess. I will still manage to get out of your grip and come out winning. Those people – they will scream for their Princess. They will remember my cries for help, and they will spread the word until it reaches all points of this continent – and of the world. Worse – they will spit your name and demand you rot in a cell for what you have done to their darling, perfect, poor Princess. And those of your crew that I won’t be able to find, _they_ will. The people will realize what you’ve been doing. And they will despise you for it. They’ll come for you, and they’ll come for your cronies.”

Viktor was silent for a long, long time. As she held his gaze, Eva felt as if she could see every thought running through that wicked, twisted mind. He hated her, of course. But more than that – he hated not only what she was, but what she’d become to him. An obsession. A prize.

A gold coin he hadn’t managed to keep in his pocket.

Alas.

“You condemn me,” Viktor said, “but you, and all your talk of monstrosity, how are you different from me, Princess? That stunt you pulled in that village, naked and bruised on the ground, screaming like the helpless child you are not. How is your self-proclaimed cruelty acceptable, and mine isn’t?”

Eva gave him an easy smile. “Because my cruelty keeps my people safe, and fuckers like you in their fucking place.” She shrugged again. “Mind you, my words still ring true. I am _not_ kind. But I can still look at myself in the mirror after realizing that. And you can’t.”

“What did you come here for?”

“To show you that whatever you do to me, I will do worse to you,” Eva said. “You better fear the moment you are taken out of this cell, Viktor. You better fear Aelin. But I warn you now, you should absolutely shit yourself at the sight of me. Because at the end of the day, your future lies in my Queen’s hands, but _I_ have her ear.”

Vanserra gritted his teeth so hard that she heard it. “Are you done?”

“Not yet. I have questions.”

He snorted.

“You’re going to answer them,” Eva said. “Unless you want me to kill you right now.”

And she meant it – and he knew it, too. Eva had no care for the consequences. She _would_ gut him right now.

Vanserra was smart enough to stay silent.

“That cottage I found you in,” Eva said. “Why were you there?”

“I have many homes,” Vanserra said. “But I was preparing to strike at you. The female you killed was supposed to be your kidnapper. It was fate that brought you to me. It was luck that you knew where to find me. Luck that you read my books.”

Eva bit her cheek. “You wanted to kidnap me. We spoke for half an hour, and you made no move to do so. Why send that female after me? Why not do the job yourself? Afraid of breaking a nail?”

“For obvious reasons,” Vanserra said. “Your mate would have stopped me and killed me on the spot before you had the chance.”

“So you sent her because you thought it would erase your footprints, and she would catch us off guard,” Eva stated. She didn’t wait for Vanserra’s nod, as she said, “So you do see mating bonds.”

“All kinds of bonds,” Viktor said. “Parental bonds, friendships, you name it.”

Eva gritted her teeth. “I reckon you took that as an advantage. Your cronies hesitated that day, before attacking me after you left. Some of them bailed when they didn’t see you. You blackmailed some of them, didn’t you? Threatened their loved ones?”

Vanserra shrugged. “For a better world, strategy has to be used.”

“Strategy,” Eva snorted. “Right. Your poor attempt at strategy got you here, you fool. Should’ve stuck with writing books,” she tutted. “Why did you tell me your real name?”

“I wanted that to be the name in your nightmares.”

“Dramatic,” Eva drawled.

“Most of them believed me,” Vanserra said. “Most of them joined on their own accord, because they believed in the world I presented to them. They knew how to recognize the real monsters.”

“You’re crazy,” Eva laughed. “You’re absolutely nuts. Squirrels should be all over you.”

“You were never supposed to exist,” Vanserra spat. “You are a blight on this world.” 

“I mean it, Viktor,” Eva said. “You’re mad, and your plan was mad, and it was poorly executed. Too many plot holes…” She smiled. “I noticed that in your books, you know. There was always _something_ not quite right. Something missing. I think, Viktor, you tend to underestimate your own characters. The winning team was always too obvious. Never forget those in the background,” she cooed. “Or you might end up in a cell with two broken legs.”

“Die,” Vanserra shouted. “Wretched thing.”

Eva grinned. “Not before you do.” She lifted herself up, ignoring the pains and the aches and everything else. Her satisfaction made it all worth it. Seeing Vanserra in chains made it worth it. It wouldn’t bring all those lives back but it was, at least, a step toward justice. “I will see you in Orynth, Vanserra.”

She began to turn, but halted. Turned back to him.

“I’m worthy of this life, Vanserra. Everyone is worthy of this life. And if you think otherwise, then the problem is _you_.” Eva smiled, and then _bowed_. She was a fighter, a survivor, yes, but there was nothing she excelled better at that than being an absolute nuisance with a shit-eating grin to go along with it. “No God has power over the sun,” she said. “You’ll never touch me.”

When she walked back up the stairs, out of the dungeons, ignoring the bullets Vanserra shot at her in the form of curses and slurs and insults, her mate was already waiting for her. He kissed her head, held her hand, and led her away. She felt his pride shine.

Eva looked out the windows, expecting night to already be reigning the world.

But the sun was still out, and stronger than ever.


	29. Chapter 29

A great storm had fallen over Terrasen that late afternoon.

They say storms are usually forewarnings of terrible things to come, but Eva called that absolute and utter _bullshit_.

Rain washes away all the bad things.

Rain wipes away all the blood in the cobblestones.

Rain heals.

And rain is what she craved most.

It did not make her journey back to Orynth that easy, but it didn’t really bother her. Ragnar was by her side, holding her hand. She rested her head on his shoulder, and occasionally allowed herself to doze off, soothed by the rain patterns, his steady breathing, and the drum of the horse’s hooves on soft, wet ground. 

It was still the afternoon, and she was going home. At this fast pace, they would arrive in no time. Hopefully.

Dorian had argued that she should stay a few more days, just to heal properly, but Eva had been anxious to go, knowing her family would be waiting for her and Ragnar’s safe return. So they would make no stops, and since the rain had cleared the roads, they would not find any obstacles on their way.

Oftentimes, she found Ragnar tracing her thumb, so gently, and she would wake, for only just a moment. At her change of breathing, Ragnar kissed her head, murmuring softly to her, telling her to go back to sleep, for they were still nowhere near home.

Eva was very aware of the prisoners – of Vanserra – being escorted behind them. But the Princess of Terrasen was too tired to blink, let alone think about her conversation with Vanserra. She would have to help those he blackmailed them, and make sure those who had not acted on his behalf yet would find safe haven. There were still so many things to do, and the storm kept raging.

But Eva slipped into unconsciousness with her mate’s arms around her, and even then, when her mind turned off, her hand never loosened its grip on his.

***

Atarah could barely stand still. She found that conversation and being around many people helped, but her heart was still filled with anxiousness. Luna had not answered any of her letters, and Orynth was as quiet as an owl during the day. Even with Oren constantly beside her, she couldn’t help but allow her thoughts to spiral.

That night had been the most terrible one so far.

Atarah woke up without being able to breathe. Her gasp tore through the silence of her chambers like a knife, as she attempted to try to turn, to escape-

She’d been twisting in the sheets. She had accidentally trapped herself. She wasn’t being taken. She was safe, at home, her family was with her, and Oren was there, too. Atarah blinked in the darkness, heart stuttering on her chest, wanting to burst out of her ribcage. She was at home, and yet she didn’t feel safe.

She felt trapped.

This room was a cell.

Footsteps echoed – they were coming to get her-

Someone burst through her room, and Atarah had been so caught up in her own panic that she hadn’t picked up that scent – how she hadn’t picked up _that_ scent was beyond her. She could recognize his footsteps in a crowd of thousands, pick his scent amongst millions.

Oren stood there, hand on the door knob, breathing hard as if he’d sprinted there. And he had, of course – his hair was mussed, his shirt and trousers too casual to be anything but nightwear, and his eyes were wide and frightened, but dark circles were clearly visible underneath.

“Atarah,” he blurted out, then looked around her room, walking inside in quick, urgent footsteps. “I heard – I felt you panic. What – what happened?”

She watched him for a moment, her knees close to her chest.

Then, without being able to keep it in any longer, Atarah burst into silent tears. Her sobs made her unable to breathe, and she gasped for air, burying her head between her knees, trying to make sense of her nightmare, trying to keep holding on to this reality, the reality where nothing was dangerous, and she was safe, and Oren was safe, and nothing would touch him or her ever again.

Her mattress shifted, and a weight pressed down on it, right next to her. Oren didn’t touch her, but his voice was a whisper in the darkness, “Sweetheart. Talk to me. You’re frightening me.”

He tried to touch her hand, and when Atarah didn’t push him away, his arms slowly wrapped around her. Tentatively, he pulled her against him, and Atarah felt herself breathe for the first time that night. When his scent finally wove into hers, Atarah’s heart slowly, but surely, began to calm.

Rain began to fall.

Her sobs soon became gentle gasps, as she reigned in her emotions. Oren trembled slightly, and Atarah could only guess how much she had frightened him, but her mind couldn’t focus on much – so she settled for listening to his heart, feeling his hands draw slow, gentle circles on her back.

Oren didn’t speak, waiting for her to come back to him.

When she did, Atarah rested her cheek on his shoulder, aching with exhaustion. She realized he’d pulled her into his lap, and his arms circled her like a shield. Keeping her together.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to whisper to him after a moment.

Oren ran a hand over her hair, his hand stopping in the middle of her spine. He shook his head. “Atarah, why are you apologizing?”

“I woke you up.”

“And?”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“ _And_?”

She sniffed, her body trembling slightly. Oren just held her tighter. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, and there was so much pain on his voice. “I cannot help you if you don’t talk to me. Do you not wish to speak of what happened?”

She hesitated. How would she be able to explain it to him? The moment she’d told him of her nightmares of Hylas, Oren had looked both worried out of his mind and angry. Part of her wished to keep her pain to herself – Oren had enough on his plate. They’d even barely spoke about his father, and Atarah felt a dark cloud settling over her whenever she thought of attempting to speak to him about… about what had happened to them. Oren was trying to move on. She couldn’t be the anchor that kept him still.

But-

“I’m here,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’m here for you.”

But perhaps she couldn’t heal on her own. And that was alright to admit – even to herself. Perhaps she needed Oren more than she thought she did.

Perhaps breaking wasn’t such a terrible thing, if you knew someone was there to help you pick up the pieces afterwards.

So Atarah kept her head on his shoulder, feeling comforted by his smell, his warmth, and mostly because she barely had the strength to move. She whispered, “I was bound. I couldn’t breathe.”

Oren stayed silent, listening.

“I could smell that poison again,” Atarah continued, speaking slowly. “I could _taste_ it. I could feel the stones underneath me. The wounds from the chains on my ankles, and my wrists. It felt so real.”

Protectively, Oren held her even tighter. She was thankful for it. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad,” Oren said to her, close to her cheek. Atarah didn’t speak, but Oren didn’t ask her why she had kept things to herself. He just said, “You’re not there anymore. No one’s ever going to touch you again.” He ran his thumb over her brow, collecting the sweat there. It was then that Atarah noticed her nightshift clung to her like a second skin. She felt feverish. “No one should go through what _you_ went through.”

“What _we_ went through,” Atarah said, reaching for his hand.

“Yes,” Oren whispered, and she heard his voice break slightly. He took a moment to compose himself, and then he said to her, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Her lips touched the place right under his ear, and Oren’s hand squeezed hers. “What can I do?” He begged.

“Stay with me,” she said, so softly. “As long as you can.”

“Forever,” he promised.

Oren gently placed her down, whispering, “Rest. I’ll be here.” He lied down next to her, and Atarah turned to face him, kicking her covers away. Their hands clasped between them, Atarah kissed his knuckles.

“It’s over,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Yes,” Oren nodded, placing a gentle kiss on her brow. “It’s over now.”

They both had a long way to go.

And while Oren didn’t show his scars as easily as she did… Atarah knew that they ran deep and bloody still. There would come a day when he would speak to her about those scars, and she would listen, as he listened that night.

But for now…

For now, they were safe. They were together.

And that’s all that mattered.

***

Aran watched the rain through his office window. It was a raging storm, and he was trying not to let it affect him, but to no avail. Aran’s spirit felt as dark as the clouds above him.

A scent filled the room, so powerful that Aran couldn’t help but close his eyes and breathe it in.

Only a second later, Alric was slipping inside. No words were spoken. Alric wrapped his arms around Aran from behind and Aran leaned into that touch, into the kiss Alric placed on Aran’s neck.

“Not long now,” Alric assured him.

Aran was deadly still, though. And of course Alric noticed. His hands looked for Aran’s, and he intertwined their fingers together, squeezing once – a reassurance.

Aran whispered, “I will kill him. I will kill them all for what they have done.”

“As interesting as your murderous side is to me,” Alric grinned, “I’m afraid there is a long, long line of participants waiting to see Viktor Vanserra’s body ripped apart. Myself included.” He turned Aran to him with impressive strength. “But I would rather you keep your hands clean.”

“And why’s that,” Aran drawled.

Not in the mood, Alric could tell.

But Alric was nothing if not persistent.

“Because,” said Alric, pulling Aran closer, “killing the bastard will solve nothing, and Aelin will be fairly upset with you for murdering her fountain of information concerning others who might be involved in Vanserra’s scheme.”

Aran rolled his eyes, impatient. Right now, he was not very fond of Alric’s exceptional logic and calm thinking. He wanted to rip something to shreds. Perhaps he’d start with the books – Eva wasn’t here yet, so Aran wouldn’t be in danger of being buried alive because she wouldn’t see him destroy her favourite thing in the world.

Alric touched his cheeks, forcing Aran’s gaze to fall on his. “Hey,” he whispered. “Are you with me?”

“Yes,” Aran said. “I’m sorry.”

"You should be rejoicing,” Alric said. “Your sister is coming home. Your best friend is on his way. Your gorgeous, admirable lover is giving you all the attention in the world.”

Despite himself, Aran cracked a smile. His hands drifted to Alric’s chest. “Gorgeous and admirable don’t quite cut it.”

“Ah,” Alric smiled. “There you are, Prince.” 

Alric leaned in, and Aran met him halfway.

Their kiss was so gentle that Aran found himself slowly relaxing under his lover’s touch. Alric had an impressive way to deal with his moods, something Aran couldn’t quite comprehend. He knew that, when he was in a particularly foul state, most people avoided him – rightly so. Aran had no problem being avoided when he wished to speak with no one. But Alric was different. Alric knew all the buttons he could – and should – push, and no matter how sour or silent Aran became, the spy simply would not let him get away with it.

Sometimes Aran found himself comparing Alric to his past lovers. It wasn’t fair to him, Aran knew that, but he couldn’t help it. Alric was so…

So wonderful. 

It hurt his heart to even _think_ about him. To be near him was to feel like the tallest male in the entire world. To be kissed by him was to feel understood, accepted, appreciated, and loved all at once. It was overwhelming and beautiful, and he’d never felt this way before.

He’d never _allowed_ himself to feel this way before.

Aran knew that, when he _did_ fall in love, he didn’t just fall hard. He _crashed_. And past lovers knew that, and took advantage of it. No one had taken a good look at him in the days where his moods would make him distant and grumpy, and wished to stay. Just as they hadn’t stayed when he revealed his true feelings.

Alric wanted everything when it came to Aran.

Even his terrible moods.

_Especially_ his terrible moods.

Alric pulled back first, gasping softly, and Aran only noticed what he was doing when Alric laughed under his breath, and muttered, “Take it easy now, Prince. Not made of steel, like you. Just meat and bones.”

Aran loosened his grip immediately, “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No,” Alric said, touching Aran’s jaw. “Just cut my breath there for a moment. It’s fine.”

“I’ll need to measure my strength-”

“I’m not _that_ breakable,” Alric laughed. “Goddess above, Aran. You’re not going to kill me.”

Aran blushed a little. Sometimes, it was a little difficult to keep his hands in check. Alric had a tendency to push his instincts to the surface.

Alric softened, and his smile did, too, as he watched Aran watching him. Alric touched Aran’s cheek, so gently, and then murmured, “I think your mother knows about us.”

Aran smiled at that. “It’s only a matter of time when she pulls me aside and asks to properly meet you. As my lover.”

“D’you think she’ll be fine with a spy loving her son?”

Alric had said it with ease, leaning into Aran a little as he traced his jaw with his thumb. But Aran saw right through it. Alric could never meet his eyes whenever he was doubtful. And though his voice hid everything, Aran still tilted the spy’s chin back a little to look into his eyes. “You’re hiding from me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re a liar, and a very good one,” Aran said. “But not when you’re with me. You’re worried my mother won’t accept you?”

Alric paused, then pulled back, leaning his hip against the table. As if he needed space from Aran so that he could think his answer through.

“I’m still the son of a thief, you know.”

“That thief was one of Aelin’s closest friends,” Aran said, a little amused. He’d never seen Alric insecure, and while he was taking it very seriously, Aran couldn’t help but find it… endearing, how Alric was tiptoeing around the real issue.

“Still.”

“Still…?” Aran cocked his head to the side.

“You can’t deny what you are.”

“Fae?” Aran said. “Part-shifter?”

Alric gave him a deadpan look. “ _Royalty_.”

Aran gave out a little high-pitched laugh. “I threw that title into the trash-”

“You’re still recognized as such,” Alric muttered. “You’re still a Prince, in your own right.”

“I’ve abdicated,” Aran protested. But this wasn’t the real issue. “Alric, Prince or no Prince, I’m yours. And my mother is already gushing about you as it is. Seven hells, my father treats you like family already. Which you _are_.”

Alric paused, looking out the window, facing the rain. “Perhaps your parents won’t mind. What about everyone else? This court?”

Aran blinked. “What everyone thinks matters as much to me as that pile of horse shit outside.” To emphasize his point, Aran pointed right at the window.

Alric snorted. “So nicely put.”

“I mean it,” Aran said, closing the distance between them again, and touching Alric’s warm cheek. “You’re important to me. I don’t want you to worry about other people. I want you to worry about us.” Aran paused. “Actually, I don’t want you to worry at all, because the way I see it, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Alric dragged out a long, contented sigh. Aran had trapped him between himself and the desk, and Alric had to admit he felt very comfortable where he was standing. _Very_ comfortable indeed. He trailed a hand up Aran’s chest, and smiled when the Prince smirked, showing his teeth. 

“What am I going to do about that Fae charm of yours? Hum?” Alric murmured. “You’ll convince me of anything you want with those eyes.”

“Anything I want?” Aran grinned, leaning in, so, so close, that Alric’s eyes dipped down to his lips. “Shall I convince you to kiss me? Is that how it works?”

“Shameless flirt.”

“You like it,” Aran whispered. Then, for good measure, he placed the softest, briefest kiss on the centre of Alric’s pretty lips. “You love me.”

“Yes,” Alric said back, and Aran saw his little smile, and that gesture alone made his heart jump so wildly in his chest, that he had no doubt in his mind that Alric would be able to hear it. “Yes, I do.”

He pulled Aran closer, and when both their gazes travelled back to the window, to the pouring rain outside, Alric had a strange feeling deep in his bones.

He had a feeling that this was the beginning of something marvellous.

***

“Tell me,” Aidan insisted.

He’d never seen Nora so pale before.

He’d never seen her so… _alert_ before. 

Nora was the most easy-going out of all of them, the one everyone turned to when they needed a simple solution to a tough situation. So this behaviour in her was highly unusual. Worrying, even.

María, too, stared at her, apprehensive.

“So, hum,” Nora began. “So, you know Luna, right?”

“… yes?” Aidan said.

“How do I explain this?” Nora muttered to herself. She met Aidan’s eyes. “I met the ghost of her dead lover.”

Before his own reaction came, Aidan felt María go stiff beside him. Their food was forgotten. A shiver ran down her spine, and Aidan felt that, too. He touched her knee beneath the table, intending on reassuring her-

But he wasn’t so sure he was able to calm himself down.

“Say that again.”

“I met…” Nora said slowly. “The ghost… of her…” She cringed. “… dead lover.”

Aidan stayed silent for a long while.

It was not unusual for Nora to speak to the dead. Her abilities revolved around it. Though, usually, when it did happen, spirits usually looked for her, as if she were a magnet, and that was extremely rare to happen.

María spoke before he was able to. “He’s here right now?” 

She must have seen Nora’s restlessness, and the way her eyes fidgeted from time to time. His mate’s voice was only a whisper, and he wished Nora hadn’t given her the truth.

“Yes.”

Aidan looked over to see her reaction-

Blood had left her face. She looked stricken. Worse – his mate looked like a corpse.

“Fuck,” Aidan whispered. “María?”

She held up a finger. “Give me a moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Nora said, reaching her hands towards her. “I’m sorry for… for bringing this onto you, but I didn’t know who else to talk to about it.”

María shook her head vehemently, and then said to no one in particular, “Is it normal for you guys to see dead people?” She turned to Aidan then, her eyes filled with terror. “Do _you_ see dead people?”

“I don’t see dead people,” Aidan managed to blurt out.

“ _I’m_ the only one that sees dead people,” Nora said. Then added, “We should stop saying dead people out loud, we’re scaring Bran’s clientele.”

It was Aidan’s turn to shake his head. “What does he… want?”

Nora paused. “He’s frightened for her.”

Aidan stiffened. “Why.”

“Well – he knows about Seren, and…”

Aidan blinked. “Does he think my brother’s going to _harm_ her?” He wasn’t able to stop his tone from becoming harsh. “Even if she wasn’t his mate, my brother isn’t like that.”

“No, wait, Aidan, that’s not-”

“Tell him to go,” Aidan said.

“No,” Nora said, placing her hands firmly on the table. Her eyes turned to her side, for only a fraction of a second, before she turned them back to her cousin. “He’s not going anywhere. I’m here to _help_ him. And mind your tone – he can hear you, you know.”

Quietly, María hung her head. “Oh, God,” she murmured, sounding faint.

Before Aidan could ask her if she wanted to go, Nora said, “He’s frightened for her – because Luna hasn’t let go of him yet. That’s why he’s still here, roaming around.” A sad pause, as Nora slumped in her chair. “She’s conflicted.”

“Conflicted?”

Nora shot her cousin a dirty look. “She loved him for a long time, Aidan. That sort of feeling doesn’t go away just like that. She may be Seren’s mate, and she may love him, but the pain of losing Leander is still there.”

Aidan lowered his head. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know she’d… Seren told me she’d lost someone dear to her, but I never thought it was like that.”

“Luna is not from here,” María chimed in, not looking any better, but clearing her throat to keep her voice steady. “So he can’t be from around here, either. So how…?”

“How did he come to be here?” Nora completed for her. After María’s nod, Nora said, “The dead usually stay close to their loved ones. It’s not their decision, really – it’s the ones that remain that… usually keep their dead here. Troubled feelings or an inability to let someone go will keep their spirit tethered. Like a rope.”

Aidan paused, silenced. He knew where this was going. Of course Nora would wish to help the poor soul, and that would inevitably lead her to speak to Luna. And if Luna’s feelings were still conflicted…

What would that mean for his brother?

***

He saw her, from time to time.

When her pain was worse, Leander was there.

It was like being awakened.

His eyes blinked several times, though he couldn’t quite feel himself doing it. He heard her crying in her chambers.

She never felt him close.

Leander sat by her side, knowing by now that there was nothing he could do to console her, to keep her happy. Terrible things had been happening in Orynth, and that weighed in on her conscience, too. It weighed on his.

Seeing her cry hurt so much.

Like it had hurt that night when she’d fallen asleep near the stone she’d carved his name on to honour him after his death. Leander had watched her, helpless. He wasn’t really there. He couldn’t hold her, or kiss her tears away. He couldn’t touch her. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he called her name, Luna never saw or felt him.

When she’d teleported for the first time, Leander had been brought in with her.

The sensation was so strange.

He knew the world he was in was not the one he’d known.

She’d teleported gently. Like a feather, her body settled down into the mattress, and Luna kept sleeping. She’d been exhausted. She hadn’t slept for days.

Months had passed since his death, and it hurt him more than anything to know how that that had destroyed Luna.

Leander stood in that foreign chamber, eyeing the male that slept next to her, oblivious that a girl had just teleported herself into his bed.

His features were calm as he slept. Leander moved to squat down beside him, watching him breathe. What had brought Luna here? How could Leander make sure she was safe?

An inherent feeling whispered to him that the love of his life was not in any danger. Somehow, Leander hadn’t felt the fear creeping in. He felt as he always felt – calm, reassured. Terribly sad for her.

The male had strange, dark wings that shifted slightly while he dreamed. Midnight hair and the body of a warrior. A fighter. A protector. Leander had cocked his head to the side, examining further. A brother, a son. A good male. Some of the sadness Leander recognized in Luna, he’d seen in Seren then. It was different, but still the same.

While Luna grieved for someone she had lost, Seren grieved for someone he had never met, and thought he would never meet.

Leander’s eyes had turned back to Luna’s sleeping form.

Unexpectedly, her hand had stirred.

Leander had thought she might have been waking up, and he’d risen, calm and reassurance giving in to anxiety. What would happen now?

But Luna never woke.

Her hand had drifted across the mattress, searching.

For that male. 

Leander’s gaze had moved with her.

Luna had let out a little sound, her brows furrowing. Her cheeks had still been stained with tears, as her nightshift had been stained with grass. As if responding to her unknown call, the stranger had flipped onto his back, wings adjusting, and his head turning on the pillow towards her, eyes still closed, his mouth parted.

After a while, Luna had drifted closer. And closer. Until she had her head buried in his chest. The male, still unconscious, had lifted an arm and wrapped it around her. Leander had been certain neither of them knew what they had been doing. But-

Luna had breathed a soft sigh. Then, she’d fallen into a deeper sleep.

For the first time in months, she’d slept soundly.

Leander had stood there, unable to leave, unable to understand what he was feeling. In that moment, as the male’s hands had splayed on her back with blind protectiveness, Leander had seen it all. Leander had realized what had brought Luna here.

_He_ had – Leander had brought her here.

He’d wanted to soothe her pain.

He’d wanted to clear the path ahead of her, so that no thorns could prickle her delicate fingers.

Leander had cleared more than a path.

He’d cleared the way for Luna to find her mate.

How he’d manage to do it, to make _her_ do it, Leander had no clue.

But he knew.

He knew that this strange, nameless male would love her. Leander had narrowed his eyes at his sleeping form, and had almost snorted. Of course he would. And Luna – his precious, wonderful Luna, with the big brown eyes and gentle smile… she would love him, too.

And, more importantly, she would heal.

Slowly, but she _would_ heal.

***

It hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped.

He’d accidentally made Luna… _fall_ in Seren’s bathtub.

Before you despise him, listen…

It wasn’t _all_ him. The bond was taut between them both, and Leander was only giving her the push she needed. How could he know that _that_ push would make her fall into Seren’s bathtub _while_ he was in it?

“ _I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,”_ she’d muttered, and Leander watched as Luna practically tripped and fell out of the tub. “ _Oh, Gods, what the_ fuck.”

_“I’m here,”_ Luna had whispered to the condensation on the mirror above the sink. She hadn’t known it, but she’d looked straight at Leander’s smiling face. “ _I’m here? Wait-“_ Then she’d turned, and Leander had raised his brows as Seren began to lift himself up, only to sit back down when Luna’s head turned to him. _“Shit, I’m sorry,”_ she’d said, turning back around. Her cheeks had been so red that Leander swore he could feel nothing else but the warmth of her, even from where he’d stood. _“I forgot you were naked, I-“_

Even if neither of them could have heard him, Leander had fought back a laugh.

No, this was not how he’d planned it.

But he couldn’t say it had been a bad turn of events.

***

Luna’s dreams were always a pleasant place to be, even if nightmares troubled her. That night, however, she’d dreamt of gentle things.

She’d dreamt of him.

He was closest to her in her dreams. That’s when Leander truly _felt_. Senses were mostly lost to him, but he could still remember her smell, and the warmth of her touch.

His curls had fallen over his eyes, as Luna imagined him cupping her cheeks. He’d always done that before he kissed her – she remembered. Of course she did.

_“Luna.”_ Saying her name out loud had been like a soothing balm right over his chest. His heart eased as she’d smiled at him.

Luna’s dream had conjured a meadow full of Kingsflame blooming. In another part of… himself, Leander felt his grandfather’s pain, far away. Some of that ease ruptured his heart.

Leander could see Chaol lying awake, thinking of him. Soon, he would join his grandson, and he knew it. Chaol had lived longer than most, but soon, he would join Leander. And then Yrene would, too. Leander’s thoughts turned to his father, the great man he’d known. Leander often worried about him too. Losing his only son had taken a toll on his father, too. Leander only wished that his death hadn’t caused so many people so much pain.

Especially not for the one he’d been staring at that night. His love, his light. His moon. Luna. “ _I have to go back to Anielle,”_ Leander had whispered to her, his voice softer in her dream. “ _My grandfather needs me.”_ He’d indulged himself a little, and kissed her knuckles.

_“Will you take me with you, this time?”_

Leander swallowed hard.

_“I can’t, my love.”_

_“Why not?”_ She’d asked him.

The skies in her dream had been a baby blue colour, but stars had begun to dot the pretty canvas. Leander had wanted her to see it – he’d wanted her to get the meaning of it. Manipulating her dream, only a little, just so she could finally understand…

_“Do you remember when you taught me to look up at the stars?”_ He’d said to her. “ _You always liked the stars. You were fascinated by them. And I was fascinated by you.”_

“ _I like_ you _,”_ Luna had said to him. _“I love you.”_

_I miss you._

_I miss you, too, my love. My loveliest girl._

_“I know,”_ he’d smiled. “ _I loved you, too.”_

Her hand splayed over his silent heart. _“Don’t say_ loved _.”_

She’d sounded close to tears. Leander shut out that part of him that still ached and hurt and felt – because he’d needed her to _understand_. _“I can’t love you anymore. Not from where I am.”_

_“Come back.”_

_“One day, it won’t hurt. I promise.”_ He’d caressed her cheek, attempting to make her realize that she could have this once again, she could have _love_ once again, and be rid of the guilt and the sadness once and for all. She would have this with someone else. _“Look up at the stars, my love.”_

“ _No.”_

_“They’re waiting for you.”_

_“Who?”_

Leander had felt himself beginning to smile. Luna never saw what was right in front of her – even now. “ _The stars,”_ he whispered.

***

_“You’re just irritating me now,”_ Leander had told Seren one afternoon, as he watched the male pace around his room, aching with loneliness, aching for Luna. Because Luna was bound to Seren, Leander had felt tethered to the male, too.

“ _Just tell her.”_ He’d crossed his arms, followed Seren with his gaze, and sighed in pure frustration. _“I don’t like that you’re keeping her in the dark, you know. It’s not fair. She doesn’t like being deceived.”_

Seren had stopped in the middle of the room, as if he’d heard Leander.

But of course he hadn’t.

The male had sighed heavily, shaking his head to himself.

He’d felt unworthy of her – inadequate somehow. Seren had caught himself in the mirror, and grimaced at what he saw there. He’d moved away promptly, unable to confront the fear that had been living in his eyes. He’d convinced himself Luna wouldn’t want the bond.

_“You fool,”_ Leander had whispered. “ _You stubborn fool.”_

Leander had sent a wind current right at him, and Seren had gone to shut the window, shivering slightly. He’d looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he’d shaken his head.

Leander had rolled his eyes.

He’d have to play with chance again.

***

Things never happened like he wanted them to.

Leander had cursed himself that night – he’d hurt her this time. Luna had to catch Seren as he’d fallen _right through the skies_ into her awaiting arms.

But… he’d barely done anything this time.

He’d been watching her. She’d been speaking to him, to his stone…

Perhaps this time it had been only her.

Leander had followed Luna through the halls of Orynth. She’d looked over his shoulder – not at him, of course, but making sure no one else but the guards were around.

In her chambers, Seren had been waiting for her. Leander had been feeling less than happy with the male lately – he’d wished Seren had simply been… _honest_ with Luna from the beginning. Perhaps by then, all her doubts would have disappeared.

But no.

He’d been making things very, _very_ difficult.

_Stubborn fool._

And then, something wonderful had happened.

He’d been able to disappear, move away from her at last, when Luna’s voice touched his dead heart.

_Leander, I’m sorry._

_I hope you can forgive me when we meet again._

Leander’s attention had spiked, and just like that, he’d been right there with her again, as Luna had unconsciously pulled on the rope between them.

“ _I’m sorry,”_ Seren had been saying. “ _You deserved better. You both did.”_

Leander had taken a moment to wonder at this male.

It had been clear by then that Seren was absolutely besotted – if not already in love – with Luna. Leander had been tapping his foot, waiting for him to spill the truth, but… as he’d heard Seren’s words, Leander had understood what Seren had been trying to do. Not only had Seren felt compassionate towards Luna because of Leander, he’d… he’d been trying to give her the space to realize it all for herself.

Just like Leander had.

In that moment, Leander liked Seren more than he ever thought he would.

“I’m going to do something,” Luna had whispered.

Leander had begun to retreat.

_“I will kiss you,”_ she’d told Seren.

Seren hadn’t pulled back. _“Kiss me, then.”_

Leander had turned his eyes away then.

That was no place for him to be anymore. The moment Luna released the rope, he was gone.

***

He rarely ever came back.

Mostly, Leander slept.

He slept, and dreamed, and smiled, and slept some more.

Other times, Luna’s heart trembled, and he was there. Something deep inside her wavered sometimes. Leander knew it wasn’t her love for Seren. She _loved_ him. She loved him more than she knew.

But Luna was afraid.

She was afraid of hurting Leander. Even in death.

“I’m not hurt,” he tried to tell her. “I’m happy. I’m so happy.”

“Please, be happy, Luna.”

She never heard him, of course.

So Leander had needed someone to make her listen.

***

The first one to reach her was her father.

Aedion cried at her shoulder. 

She couldn’t bear it – she couldn’t bear how much pain she’d brought them all but… Eva drew comfort from the fact that she had, once and for all, brought justice to her family, her kind.

“Papa, I’m alright.”

Aedion sobbed harder, and even though his arms were careful, he still squeezed every last breath away from her.

“Never,” her mother said to her, stern and tearful, “do that to me again.”

And without another scolding word, she’d pulled her daughter into her arms, told her, “My little Eva, you brave, brave girl.”

Eva let herself sob into her mother’s chest, and held her just as tight. “Mama, it’s over.”

“I know, my darling.”

It was only when she broke away from her mother that she realized practically everyone was there – Amara, and Rhiannon next to her. Ferran and Andrik, who had journeyed from Perranth to Orynth the moment they’d heard the news, and who were now wrapping their brother in their arms, Eldon and Howlan with them. Lorcan and Elide quietly wiped their tears beside them, taking turns to pull Ragnar into their embrace. Andrea let out a soft sound of relief, and she was the last one to walk into her brother’s arms. But when she did, she didn’t let go. Ragnar squeezed his sister in a hug, and murmured to her, “Everything is going to be alright, Andy.”

Even Asterin – who blinked back tears as she watched Andrea and Ragnar, turned to look at Eva, forming a smirk full of love and relief. “Thought I’d miss the family reunion?” She grinned. “My mother is on her way. Expect a sermon.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Eva whispered.

And then her brother crashed into her.

He’d been running, from the way he breathed. Even though he was careful, too, Aran lifted her off the ground, pulling her into his chest. Her twin. Her wonderful brother. Her partner in crime, through thick and thin.

“I’m sorry, Aran,” Eva whispered to him, sobs parting her lips again. “I had to do it.”

“I know,” her brother said back, voice strained. He didn’t let go. “I’m just glad to have you back.” He kissed the top of her head, and touched her cheeks, saying to her, “If you ever decide to do anything heroic without me ever again, I will personally burn all your books.”

“You would never. And there are too many, you’d never get to them all.” Eva said, patting his cheek. “I’m glad to be back, brother.” What she didn’t tell him is how apparent Alric’s scent was on him. Looking over his shoulder, Eva saw the spy himself striding towards her.

He gave her a curt nod, his eyes sparkling. “I never doubted you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered to Alric. She hoped he knew she was grateful for more than just the compliment. Her eyes turned to her brother, seeing the smile and happiness there… and her heart finally felt light.

_Finally_.

“Evie.”

Andrik touched her hand, so gently. Then the Lochans pulled her in – all of them. Ragnar at her side, one arm around her, kissing her temple. Andrea, smiling in relief, squeezing into her side, Andrik never letting go of her hand, Howlan and Eldon trying to push everyone away to get to her – and Ferran, his arms big enough to hold them all in.

Aelin and Rowan stepped in, and the children broke their embrace – but did not pull away from each other. Fenrys and Vaughan stood by their side, their smiles as wide as the world. Eva couldn’t remember a time when Vaughan had smiled as bright as he was now – except, perhaps, at Luna’s last birthday ball.

Aelin looked upon her, and nodded once, “I would say that you take after my cousin,” her eyes darted to Aedion, and her smile grew, “or your mother, though she would disagree.” Lysandra gave a soft laugh, and Aelin continued, “But you take after _me_ the most, Eva.”

The Queen approached her, touching her cheek. “It is as fortunate as it is unfortunate that you do. To want to protect everyone at every turn… we often forget ourselves. _Never_ ,” Aelin whispered, “forget yourself.” When Eva nodded, Aelin pulled her into her arms, and murmured to her, “I’m so proud of you. We’re all so proud of you.”

Rowan smiled in agreement, “Welcome back home, both of you.” He gave Eva a pointed look, full of fondness. “Don’t leave us again so soon.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Eva said. “You’re going to make me start crying again.”

Everyone let out a collective laugh at that, but before Rowan could say anything else, Aelin turned her sharp eyes to Ragnar. “And you.”

Ragnar pulled Eva close to him on instinct.

“The moment I met you,” Aelin smiled, “I knew you’d take after your mother. I’m so glad you did,” she turned her playful eyes to Lorcan, jabbing him just a little, and Lorcan narrowed his eyes in response, though he didn’t fight his smile. “The quietest of the bunch,” Aelin said to Ragnar, “I knew you’d give me the most trouble. I should punish you both for all the worry you caused us.” Ragnar smiled wider at that, as Aelin pulled him into a hug. “And I’m proud of _you_.”

“Thank you, Aelin,” Ragnar breathed. 

“I’m proud of us all,” Aelin said, pulling away. “All of you – I couldn’t have asked for a better Court, nor a better family.”

“Fireheart,” Rowan smiled, pulling her close. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Shush,” Aelin said to him.

“And I hear congratulations are in order,” Ferran said from the corner, pointedly eyeing both his brother and Eva.

Everyone turned to look at them – at Ragnar’s arm, wrapped protectively around her. At the bond that shined brightly between them.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Andrea exclaimed.

“Language!” Elide shrieked.

“Pay me back,” Eldon muttered to Howlan, already holding out his hand.

Aran frowned at Ragnar, “You could have told me, you dick. I knew it, of course, but ouch, couldn’t you have mentioned it in a conversation somewhere?”

“I think he was a little busy _not_ allowing Eva to be the self-sacrificing hero on her own,” Andrik pointed out.

“It’s not any of your business,” Amara said, with a nod from Rhiannon. “Leave them alone.” 

“I beg to differ,” Ferran said. “We’ve another mated couple. And it’s my little _brother_. It’s absolutely my business.”

While the uprising continued, Eva and Ragnar shared a look.

Well.

At least they didn’t have to think about breaking the news.

When Ragnar smiled, she smiled.

And when he leaned down to kiss her, amongst everyone’s distraction, Eva leaned in on her tiptoes, meeting his lips halfway. She smiled into that kiss, relief and happiness mixing into one, forming a big bubble of joy around her heart-

“Awww, look at them,” whispered Andrea.

Eva broke the kiss, clearing her throat. Ragnar, too, seemed to realize that they weren’t the only two people on Earth, and quickly composed himself.

“Nothing to see,” he muttered, already brooding, glaring daggers at his brothers. “Kindly fuck off.”

“Ragnar,” Elide warned. “I know you’ve just came from a fight, but that doesn’t mean-”

“I know, I know,” Ragnar sighed. And with him, all the Lochans chorused, “Language.” In a very impressive imitation of their mother.

“Wait,” Eva said, suddenly looking around. “Where’s Luna?”

It was Fenrys that smiled, and said, “She’d been… worried for you. The only thing – or person, I should say – that was able to calm her was Seren. So she went to meet him yestereve.”

“No fu-“ At seeing his mother’s expression, Howlan quickly swallowed that curse. “No way.”

“But what about Laelia?” Ragnar pointed out.

A pause. Suddenly, the silence in the room became too heavy, too suspicious.

Aelin picked up on it immediately. She turned her eyes to Amara. “Isn’t she feeling unwell? You told me she was in bed, sleeping.” Aelin’s tone became darker and darker as she realized… “You told me not to go see her.”

Amara let out a huge, impatient sigh.

Then her eyes met Eldon’s.

Then everyone was looking at Eldon.

 _Shit_.

Eldon looked down at his shoes as he said, his voice wobbling, “Uh… here’s a funny story…”

***

Seren touched a piece of her hair, letting it fall down her shoulders. He’d always loved the soft curls, the various shades of gold of the strands.

Gods, he’d miss her.

“I’m sorry I have to take Laelia home,” she whispered. “But… I’ll come back.” Her voice lowered. “I’ll come back if you want me to.”

As if there was ever any other alternative.

As if he’d ever wish for anything else.

Seren breathed a soft laugh against her lips. They’d been standing in that balcony for a few minutes now, while his parents and Laelia spoke in the living area. He could hear his mother’s gentle laugh from here.

“Come back to me, yes,” Seren murmured, kissing her cheek. “And I know that you’re worried, but your cousin will come back.”

“I know,” Luna said, lowering her eyes, thinking of Eva’s face, the never-ending worry still rising to the surface. “Seren…”

He touched her chin, making her look at him.

In those eyes, Luna saw so many good, beautiful things. Baby blue.

Baby blue skies filled with incoming stars.

_Look up at the stars, Luna._

There were so many things to tell him, still.

“I want you to know,” Seren began, when Luna could not begin to express herself, “that knowing you has been the best part of my life. I meant what I said to you before. Mate or not, if that is your wish, then I too wish not to be parted from you. I love you, Luna. Come sunshine, come rain. Come anything.”

His words melted her.

And as his mouth trailed kisses down to her ear, her mind returned to memories of those lips trailing new paths in new places, all over her body. Luna was reminded of every whispered word, every gentle caress, every sizzle of pleasure-

“Now, now,” Seren whispered to her, so low. “Let us not get carried away.”

“You’re toying with me,” she said to him, trying to keep her eyes from fluttering shut at feeling his breath on her ear.

“I could never,” Seren said, but his hand drifted over her hip, taking its time.

This frenzy… it had to ease, somehow. She knew the mating bond was too new between them, and that would only complicate things. But-

“I love you,” she whispered.

Seren looked beyond words by that point. He kissed her lips, so softly, and smiled against her. Luna drew closer, laughing softly when his hands tickled her waist. A soft breeze blew past them, and Luna broke away for a moment, her laughter halting.

Seren blinked. “What’s wrong?”

Luna hesitated, before drawing closer to him again, shaking her head. Shaking that… _feeling_ , whatever that was, off her. “Nothing. I thought I’d… heard something. Laughter-”

Laelia skipped out into the balcony, stopping right in front of them. “Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds. But we need to be on our way.”

“Do you?” Seren said, selfishly pulling Luna closer.

He didn’t miss the smiles on both his parents’ faces.

They were happy for him.

Even Laelia – her step was bouncier.

She turned to Feyre and Rhysand. “The date is set, then.” Laelia crossed the balcony, bowed to both of them. “High Lady, High Lord, it has truly been a delight to speak with you.”

“And with you,” Rhysand said, bowing at the waist. “May everything go well in your part of this vast world, Laelia.”

Laelia nodded. “Eva will come back. I’m _sure_ of it.”

Luna nodded, even if Laelia’s back was turned to her. They both believed it. They had to.

Late afternoon was slowly turning into night. In Terrasen, the sun would already be long gone. It would be so, so late.

Laelia was in so, so much trouble.

“Seren,” Laelia said, turning to him.

Luna pushed away, only slightly, giving Laelia the chance to speak to him.

“Luna is not only my friend,” Laelia smiled. “She’s family. If not by blood, by any other criteria. And she is the most wonderful person in the world.”

Luna refrained from rolling her eyes, but didn’t fight her smile. Laelia _did_ tend to exaggerate. “And I’m so very grateful someone so important to me managed to find someone like you,” Laelia continued.

Seren parted his lips, but no words came out.

Laelia continued, “I’m _very_ grateful. We’re all very grateful. I know my mother and father will be, too. In a few days’ time, I hope you’ll join us. Your brother, too. And everyone of your family – you are welcome in the Court of Terrasen. The Great Stags of the North will bow to you.” Laelia’s smile widened, and at this last part, her voice became much, much tender. Less formal. “Thank you.”

Seren shook his head, baffled by her words. “I-I did nothing. Luna found me.”

“You found her, too,” Laelia whispered. “She’d been lost to us for a long time.” Her eyes travelled to Luna’s, and Luna’s lowered.

It was the truth – there was no denying it. Seren already knew it.

“Thank you,” Seren managed to blurt out.

Three figures walked to the balcony door then, and Laelia almost jumped at the sight as she turned.

The female was back.

The curly-haired one.

Laelia breathed in, feeling a strange sensation crawling over her spine. She’d seen her somewhere before – that was the feeling that had been biting at her since the moment they’d met. But that couldn’t have been possible.

Had she…

Had she _dreamed_ of Nora?

She looked slightly pale now, as if someone had frightened her.

Before Nora could say anything, Aidan and his mate looked over at them. “Going already?” Aidan said, turning his eyes to Luna. “I haven’t made you my best friend, yet.”

Luna breathed a soft laugh. “I’m afraid that will have to be postponed. But I promise to come back.” Then, for good measure, she smirked, and added, “Best friend.”

“You better come back – best friend,” Aidan smiled. Then his eyes turned to Laelia, who’d been trying to meet Nora’s eyes for the past second, with no luck. She’d seemed distracted, her wings rustling behind her. “Laelia. Thanks for fighting with me and not against me. That was cool of you.”

Laelia finally managed to look at Aidan. “I can’t fight against you.” She cocked her head to the side. “That wouldn’t be quite fair, would it? You wouldn’t stand a chance, after all.”

Nora let out a cackle, but quickly shut her mouth.

Laelia smiled wider.

Especially as Aidan narrowed his eyes in a playful challenge and said, despite his mate looking quite worried that they might indeed fight each other right then and there, “Oh, I don’t doubt it, Your Highness.”

Laelia smiled at them all.

Something in her chest ached. She realized she wanted to say something to Nora – but there was nothing else to say, except, “Thank you.”

Nora’s eyes met hers across the balcony, and Laelia’s heart gave a little stumble. “You’re welcome.”

Laelia swallowed whatever she wanted to say, and instead said, “A date is set for you to come to Terrasen.” A pause. “If you want.”

Nora blinked, surprised at this turn of events. Her eyes only stopped on Rhys and Feyre for one second, before they turned back to Laelia and-

And the most beautiful smile Laelia had ever seen belonged to Nora. She had no doubt about it. Laelia was frozen on the spot, unable to say or do anything, until Nora finally murmured, “I would love to come see you.” And quickly amended to, “To see Terrasen.”

Luna looked between them, and she was certain no one else had missed the sparks that appeared between the two. Even Seren looked down at Luna with a curious crease between his brows, and Luna simply shook her head, pulling him down to her. A kiss was placed on his cheek as she murmured, “See you soon, my love.”

Seren would never get used to that.

Ever.

He touched her cheek. “Come back to me soon, my love.”

Laelia was still stuck in place as Luna said goodbye to both Feyre and Rhysand, as well as María, thanking them all. Luna touched Laelia’s arm, and Laelia seemed to wake from a dream. “Are you ready?”

Laelia took one last look at Nora. “I think so.”

***

Nora tried to keep it all in, she really did.

But Cauldron, she was beautiful.

And her eyes were making Nora a little dizzy.

Beside her, Leander made his presence known.

He was watching Luna and Seren say goodbye to each other once more. When they kissed again, Nora felt Leander smile. His calmness now was apparent. Something had changed, and Nora couldn’t really tell what.

She’d planned to talk to Luna then. That’s what she’d decided after talking to Aidan and María. But the moment she’d walked in, Leander had stopped her.

And he was stopping her now.

But why?

What had changed?

When no one was paying attention, Nora turned to look at Leander.

Luna’s laughter made him smile wider.

At Nora’s questioning gaze, he softly said, “Not yet.” A pause. “Maybe you won’t need to tell her about me, after all.”

***

The last sunrays were touching the stones.

Aidan made sure to patrol the perimeter before landing, so no disasters could happen this time. María wasn’t all too happy about the twists and turns and soaring above high cliffs and mountainous hills, but she kept her words to herself, and her arms tightly wrapped around him.

His heart didn’t ache like it was supposed to. He guessed it was because he knew that he would see her again this time.

This wasn’t a goodbye.

María let out a soft _humph_ against him as he landed, placing her gently on the ground. Leander had been quite a scare, but Aidan had been rather surprised that María drew the line at ghosts, when she’d seen and done so much that, to Aidan, appeared to be a hundred times scarier.

Her backpack hanged loose on her shoulder. “I wish I could get used to that – the flying.”

“You might,” Aidan smiled. “Perhaps you just need a little more practice.”

María gave him a look, but her smile still shone through. Her eyes trailed to the stones, and he couldn’t quite read her thoughts. Was she frightened of being here, because of what had happened the last two times? Was she hesitant to leave him?

Out of the two, it wasn’t really difficult to choose which feeling he’d prefer.

Surprising him, María approached him first, and touched his cheeks. “I loved your family. And I loved Nora.”

“Okay,” he smiled, knowing what came next.

“But ghosts are a big no-no from me,” María said, looking a little sick.

Aidan attempted not to smile. “I promise that, whenever you’re around, Nora will not use her ghost-talk.”

María’s eyes flickered. “Whenever I’m around?” She smiled.

Aidan hesitated, though his arms had already been wrapping around her, intending on making use of every precious second he had with her. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”

“I want to,” she admitted, biting her lip. He wished she wouldn’t do that – it brought too much attention to her mouth, and he quite liked her mouth, and as such, it was _very_ difficult to stay away from her mouth when he needed to. “Do you want me to?”

“Isn’t my inability to let you go a clear evidence of that?” He asked her, playful but serious, touching her cheek. His thumb traced her bottom lip, releasing it from between her teeth. “And you got a formal invitation from the High Lady and the High Lord themselves, so…”

“Nothing’s stopping me,” she concluded.

“Nothing’s stopping you,” he breathed, leaning in. He kissed the tip of her nose, and María eyes him with a raise of her brow at the way he’d deflected a kiss. Giving her a wink, he said, “Come back. Or I’ll come to you.”

“I’d rather you come get me this time,” María laughed softly. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’m more than fine with that,” Aidan said, brushing his nose with hers. “I’ll be very happy to do that, actually.”

María hesitated, and Aidan saw that she still had a lot of trapped words inside her. He didn’t force any of them out. He waited, the mountain breeze floating past them, her small hands tracing the lines of his tunic. He, too, had so many words for her – grand words he’d never spoken to anyone else before. Had never wished to _speak_ to anyone else before. But – soon.

“Hey,” she whispered to him, hands coming up to wrap around his neck.

“Hey,” he breathed.

“I’m fairly new at this,” she murmured, sounding shy. “You know… mating bonds, and such.”

“Hum,” he smiled.

“But…” A pause. “In my world, it’s customary to ask, so I’m just going to ask, even if, to you, it really means nothing.” She took a breath, and Aidan smiled wider, enchanted by her adorableness. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He blinked, smile faltering. “ _Friend_?”

She looked up, realizing what she’d done. “No, I mean…” Then she laughed at whatever she saw on his face, placing her forehead against his chest. “Help. You look like you might cry.”

Aidan looked very confused, but it didn’t quite seem like she was rejecting him yet, so he laughed along, a little hysterical.

“I mean…” she pulled back, smiling up at him. “Boyfriend, as in, well,” she looked away, shy again, “like a lover.”

Aidan smiled, taking her cheeks. “You go around calling each other _friends_ when you’re really _lovers_?”

“Not really. It’s quite a different term, actually.”

Aidan smiled. “Love, you can call me whatever you deem fit. It won’t change the way I feel about you. But, just so we’re in agreement…” He pecked her lips, only once, smiling when her breath seemed to catch, “… _more_ than friends?”

“Yes,” she whispered, pulling him down for another kiss, “definitely more than friends.”

She rose on her tiptoes. Aidan held her to him, grateful for whatever stupid luck he’d been blessed with that allowed him to find this precious love of his in a whole entire world. What were the odds?

He didn’t care. _Fuck_ the odds.

She was here, and she wanted him, and that was good enough for him.

Aidan kissed her one more time, before murmuring, “Portal’s going to close, love.”

María paused, but didn’t look behind her.

Her thumb traced his jaw. Slowly. Aidan watched her, entranced.

The last sunrays kissed her cheeks.

The way he now was. One, then the other.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

One more day on her “trip” wouldn’t be so suspicious, would it?

María’s mind turned to smoke.

No, her family wasn’t expecting her yet anyway.

She could hold on to a few more hours of happiness.

Just a few more.

“María,” he softly pulled back, attempting to warn her again, but María made a point to pull him back down to her, and kiss him one more time, two more times, three more times…

Until Aidan understood her decision.

The sunlight vanished between the mountains.

When she broke the kiss, the portal was closed.

Aidan touched his brow to hers, breathing a soft, happy laugh. That sound alone could have healed every wound she’d ever bore.

They laughed at each other, giddy and shy and ultimately – in love.

María was closer to the stars than she’s ever been.

***

She realized, a few moments after opening her eyes, that she’d never woken up in her mate’s arms.

Oren looked peaceful while he slept.

Atarah slowly turned, and sat, curious about him. He’d been holding her throughout the night, though they’d only managed to find sleep in the late hours. He was lying on his back, the arm that had been wrapped around her now lying limp on the pillow. His lips were parted, and he breathed softly, and something about him in that moment filled her heart with so much love, that Atarah felt compelled to lean into him.

And she did.

She touched her lips to his brow, so softly.

A quiet _thank you_ for the night before. For all the future nights they would spend, wide awake in each other’s arms, speaking softly against the darkness.

Oren stirred, and when he cracked open an eye, the clouds drifted away from her mind. Atarah touched his cheek, and upon a quite moment of realization, of situating himself, Oren’s lips spread into a small smile. He stretched, then turned his face to kiss her palm. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“I don’t get tired of that,” she murmured.

“I hope you don’t get tired of me, either.”

“Never,” Atarah said, watching him sit up.

Oren kissed her knuckles once, then said, “How are you, really?”

Atarah took a moment to think about it.

Her heart felt… calmer.

Safer.

She knew bad moments would come – they always did. But Atarah wasn’t alone. She would never feel a moment of loneliness in her life ever again.

“I have to tell you something,” she confessed.

“Oh,” Oren smiled, pinching her cheek. “Do tell.”

Atarah bit her lip. “I had a dream tonight.”

Not a nightmare. At last, not a nightmare.

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“You were wearing jester’s clothing,” Atarah said. “And playing the flute. It was rather odd, but the strangest thing is… I thought nothing of it. Like it was completely normal that you were dressed like a jester and playing the flute _for no reason_.”

Now that she was saying it out loud, it _had_ been quite funny.

Atarah burst out laughing at the same time Oren did.

And then they couldn’t stop.

Atarah had lied back over his legs, holding on to her stomach as if it might burst. Oren laughed louder than she ever could, and there was something about his laughter that set her off again, and again, until she was so out of breath she could no longer utter a sound.

She hadn’t laughed like that in so long.

They were interrupted by a quick knock on her door.

Atarah and Oren were silenced then, but then they looked at each other, and Oren began the whole thing again – his shoulders were shaking, and Atarah was pushing him off the bed, so that she didn’t have to look at his face and get _herself_ started again-

She walked to the door, holding her breath so she wouldn’t laugh.

Ana stood on the other side.

She raised her brows at Atarah’s face, whatever she saw there, and before Atarah could say another word, Ana met Oren’s eyes and her face crinkled in shock.

“Oh, Goddess,” Ana said. “I’m so sorry!”

“Oh, Ana,” Atarah laughed. “Please, it’s fine.”

“I’m the one intruding,” Oren said, then his eyes met Atarah’s, and it all went to hell again.

Ana looked between the two, shocked, but smiling slightly.

Atarah could only imagine what her poor made thought of them – two idiots laughing their heads off for no reason. Perhaps she thought Atarah had finally lost it, and perhaps… perhaps she had.

But it felt so good to laugh. Even at stupid things.

“It’s alright, Oren,” Atarah said, after the laughter had finally died down – well, somewhat. Oren came to stand next to her, and Ana gave him an appraising look. “This is Ana, my friend and my maid.”

“Her very protective friend and maid,” Ana interjected, giving Oren a pointed look.

Oren coughed. “I know I shouldn’t be here-”

“I allowed him in,” Atarah said softly. “I was… having a hard time last night.”

A weary pause, as Ana’s eyes turned to her, like she knew exactly what Atarah meant. And for all she knew, Ana did know what Atarah was going through. She’d tried to reach Atarah many times, but the Lady of Suria hadn’t wished to worry her. Perhaps she revealed more to the people she loved than Atarah believed.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ana,” Oren murmured just as softly, genuinely smiling.

Ana was ultimately enchanted.

But-

“Did something happen?” Atarah suddenly asked. She had to have a few moments to leave her stupor and realize that it wasn’t quite normal for her maid to knock on her door quite this early.

But Ana-

She was _beaming_.

Before she even uttered a word, Atarah’s heart beat with a new rhythm, a steadier, happier, relieved rhythm. Like it knew, before Atarah had even heard the message.

“A letter from Orynth arrived, my Lady,” Ana smiled. “Princess Eva has returned home at last.”

***

Laelia had to admit that Luna had a very unfortunate sense of direction, because she hadn’t _just_ teleported them right in front of their _entire_ family, when Laelia had planned to break the news slowly to her parents, but she’d also teleported them in the middle of a grand staircase.

You could see how that quickly became a problem.

As they popped in, Laelia felt herself fall. Her shriek echoed through the walls of her home, and then she hit the stairs, rolling down them with Luna stumbling right behind her. But while Luna was trying to actually keep herself standing, Laelia just…

Rolled down the stairs.

She’d been so dazed from teleporting that she could barely feel her legs.

She landed on her ass at the end of the grand staircase, her hair over her eyes, her legs splayed out in front of her, like a youngling who’d been learning how to walk and suffered from yet another fall. It had been so quick she got whiplash. Laelia was in the process of removing her hair from her eyes, when Luna lost her balanced, tripped, and clashed with her.

“You’ve got to practice your landings,” Laelia muttered, rubbing the nape of her neck.

And then she realized her parents were right in front of her.

Her very _angry_ parents.

Luna looked up, but she, too, refrained from lifting her finger, deciding the safest thing to do was stay behind Laelia. Sure – let _her_ take all of what was to come.

Aelin crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at her. “ _What happened_?”

Laelia shared a look with Luna.

With an attempt at a smile, she looked up at her mother and murmured, “Hum, well, you see…” She sighed. “It’s a long, long story.”


	30. Chapter 30

_6 months later…_

A black cat stretched its tiny paws against the tree branch, yawning in the late afternoon sunlight. Its unusual eyes, filled with stark curiosity and thoughtfulness, turned to look up at the orange skies, following the white clouds – remnants of a tumultuous, stormy winter.

The Perranth meadows were calm and gentle as Spring bloomed at last. Little folk crossed the streams, and scurried away to their homes inside the barks, collecting dewdrops on their way. Small animals slowly rose, their twitching noses poking out of the tall grasses in search of food, then settled in their nests and burrows before the sun had a chance to say goodbye. The air smelled fresh and humid. Across the plains, thirty or so trees away from the cat, sat Perranth Manor in all its homey, comfortable splendour. Through a curtained window, you could see the inviting shape of a fire. If you looked long enough, you would see Lord Lorcan and Lady Elide’s shapes wrapped around each other in a warm embrace. Perhaps they might be dancing.

The cat’s whiskers twitched as another familiar figure stepped out of the Manor, walking through the pathway of cherry-blossoms, and carrying with him more sunshine than the sun could ever hope to give. Dark shirt and cream trousers, hair falling over his eyes, Ragnar Lochan looked like a fairytale come to life. His eyes didn’t need to search the perimeter – he paid no mind to the stream beyond the line of the trees, nor to the Little Folk jumping over his shoes with tiny, phantom-like laughter. No, his gaze found that cat immediately.

He stopped below its tree, looking up with a raised brow and evocative smile, his fingertips stained with ink. His hair had grown longer, and a soft stubble followed the line of his sculpted jaw. His cheeks were fuller, and there were no dark circles underneath those eyes.

“Are you going to come down, Ashryver?”

The cat stretched again, and Ragnar let out a laugh at its imperious gaze. From one moment to the next, the cat jumped from the branch, and before it had a chance to perfectly land on its paws, in its place stood a Princess. Ragnar had already picked up her soft, satin dress from the ground where she’d left it, and he helped her put it on in the cover of dark green trees.

He kissed the top of her head as she said, “You’re done already?”

“Just had a few more things to look through,” Ragnar said, smiling wider as Eva took his hand, examining his inky fingers with a knowing look in her eyes. “And I missed you.”

Eva looked up, breathing a soft laugh, her eyes tender, the blue a contrast with the fiery skies. “You missed me so much you rushed through your work? My, my, Ragnar Lochan. You must really be in love with me.”

Really, it was an understatement, and Eva smiled at him like she knew it, too. Her bare feet lifted her on her tiptoes, and she kissed him, the promise of forever lingering on her lips, on her taste. Her back touched the tree trunk as Ragnar sunk his teeth into her bottom lip gently, playfully, before brushing her hair away from her face and looking at her like she was the whole sun, and all the stars in the universe.

“I must,” he responded after a moment, brushing his nose with hers.

Months had passed since Viktor Vanserra had been condemned to a cell for the remainder of his life, along with some of his most cruel cronies. Months since Erilea had been opened to Prythian, and vice-versa.

In those early weeks, things had not been good.

The possibility of opening up their world to another made for a few tense family conversations and planning. For now, while testing the waters, the portal would remain a secret to the rest of the world. Whilst Aelin had agreed to meet with Rhysand and Feyre soon, it was clear that both parts were hesitant, and to feel safe, they both needed this security. For now.

That first meeting, however, had been anything but tense. 

The moment Aelin had laid eyes on Rhysand and Feyre, her mind had practically exploded on the spot. Eva had never seen Aelin’s eyes so wide. And when Rhysand had bowed, extending a hand, Aelin’s hand had trembled. _Trembled_.

“Don’t take this in the wrong way,” Aelin had told them both, “but I think I know you.” And to all the confused faces around the room, especially Rowan’s, Aelin murmured, “I think I saw you once.”

Rhysand and Feyre had looked at one another for another minute, sharing a secret smile. When they turned to the Queen, it was Feyre who said, taking Aelin’s hand in both of hers, “I don’t doubt you, Your Majesty. I believe my sister saw that happening, too.”

“Please,” Aelin had said, already grinning. “Call me Aelin.”

“Call me Feyre, then.”

The two bonded in minus three minutes, and Eva watched as Aelin pulled Feyre along, murmuring, “Meet Lysandra.” Her mother had still been gawking at both Rhysand and his son, Seren, trying and failing to look inconspicuous as she whispered to Aedion, _Gods above, they’re like twins?_ “Meet Lorcan and Elide, and Fenrys, Vaughan…”

Seren, to his credit, looked slightly nervous to be around so many new people, while his younger brother, Aidan, looked vaguely bored but ultimately sincere in his _Nice to meet you’s_ and _Your world might be one of the most beautiful places ever’s_. Eva had crossed eyes with the young Archeron, and found his gaze fixed on her mate standing beside her. Ragnar, to his credit, stared right back, and when Aidan smiled, with the same smile he reserved for Luna – full of mischief and trouble – Eva had a keen sense that those two together would provoke absolute chaos and take broodiness to a whole entire level. Eva had to admit that she was curious to wait and see how that one turned out.

What was most interesting about these four newcomers was that they had looked fairly comfortable between six Lochans, Elide and Lorcan, Eva, Aran, their parents and Alric, as well as the Queen, the Prince and their two daughters, as if…

As if they already knew what to expect.

_I believe my sister saw that happening, too._

 _Hum,_ Eva had thought. _Interesting_.

Laelia had shocked everyone in the Court room by wrapping her arms around Aidan and Seren, then turning to Rhysand and Feyre with a bright, wondrous smile. To their credit, the brothers looked very happy to see her, and the High Lord and High Lady had returned that smile with no tension in their mouths. It was evident that they had all taken a liking to Laelia’s unfiltered, bubbly self, which appeared to pave the way to the rest of the family.

Aelin and Rowan had been pissed, to say the least, when Laelia and Luna had returned from the Night Court. Eva had only heard half of that conversation with Laelia, and though the youngest Princess looked apologetic, she hadn’t looked the least bit phased at being reprimanded. Eldon had fiercely supported her case, so of course all the other Lochans had stepped in for her, too. Eva had automatically done the same, so then Aran followed, and even Amara had softened at the sight of her sister murmuring, _“I just wanted to be useful.”_

In the end, it hadn’t been so bad. Aelin seemed to forgive and forget fairly quickly, especially as she’d warmed up to the Archerons immediately. As they’d lounged in the parlour room with tea and warm pastries, Eva had stared between them all, and saw a kinship form between Aelin and Rhysand. They, too, would form a chaotic pair, without a single doubt. And Eva was all too willing to see it come to life.

Happy and relieved that everything had turned out for the best and everyone had managed to get along, Laelia had a new bounce in her step. Perhaps she hadn’t quite opened up the worlds like she wanted, to show her people that different is good and everything, but every little step counted. For now, the worlds would be opened to the families. Eventually, they would be open – to the other Courts, and to Erilea.

Progress was progress.

Luna, at least, would not have to choose, and neither would Seren. Eva and Ragnar had known, instantly (call it a mate’s feeling…), what Seren and Luna were to each other the moment those two had been reunited. Everyone knew, and no one had said a thing. They hadn’t needed to. It had been clear what shone between them, bright as day.

When he saw them together, sitting close to each other, with Seren listening in to his parents speaking with the Queen and the Prince, half-distracted by Luna’s thumb making idle circles on his hand, Fenrys had wiped a secret tear that only Eva had caught. Though Vaughan had remained hesitant in the beginning, he’d warmed up quite quickly, too, when Seren’s presence in their daughter’s life proved to be a wonderful, beautiful thing from the first moment they laid eyes on him.

Rhysand, Feyre and their two sons only stayed for two days. But that morning, Aidan and Seren had been whisked away to the breakfast table by six curious Lochans, an amused Eva, a starstruck Luna, and a very talkative Laelia, who, by then, had decided that Seren would be her next best friend and was adamant to convince him of the fact. From time to time, Amara had thrown her sister a look that clearly said, _You need to calm down_ , but Laelia had pretended not to see it.

The dynamic had clearly shifted, now that there were two more mated pairs in the group, but Seren and Aidan fit right in. They had told stories about the Night Court, describing their own cousins and their friends, and had talked about something magical and thrilling called _Starfall_. The _oohs_ and _aahs_ had not ceased for quite some time. Even Alric had begun to warm up to them, letting their stories sink in, his eyes wide in wonderment and curiosity, even admiration.

During that morning, reports had arrived at the table – throughout the small villages around the outskirts of Orynth, word had begun to spread the about Vanserra’s trial and his consequential sentence. At hearing what some of the villagers were saying, Amara’s throat had closed up. Most of them had wanted off with his head. They had wanted a public hanging. They had been raging for it.

Word had also spread about what had been done to Eva and Ragnar, as well as to the Lady of Suria and her mate. The people of Terrasen had been outraged, and had even taken upon themselves to walk the streets in search for the rest of Vanserra’s cronies – just like Eva had thought they would. Some were not very difficult to find. A week or so after Viktor had been imprisoned, two farmers had showed up at Orynth’s Gates, dragging three High Fae that, despite not having anything to do with Vanserra, were still known to have caused harm to a number of demi-Fae.

There were no longer blind eyes for that kind of behaviour towards others. It should have always been that way.

It was shocking to see just how many cases of prejudice and hate arose after what Eva had broken on cobblestones of that village. They would not end so easily after this, no. Hate would always be constant, and the fight would never be over. But now, after all this time, the people of Terrasen were more aware than ever. At least _now_ , people were speaking up.

One step at a time.

But-

They’d wanted a public hanging.

There had never been a public hanging ever since Aelin had risen to the throne.

Amara had been left without words, and on instinct, she’d turned to look over her shoulder – at Eva and Ragnar, sitting together at the table.

Chewing on a piece of bread, Eva had muttered, shrugging, “Death is too easy. Let him rot in a cell, I say.” Eva’s judgment had not changed since his trial, but Aidan and Seren had not even raised a brow at her casualness as she’d spoken. “Besides, I know Atarah wouldn’t wish him to be killed, either.” Indeed – when the Lady of Suria had come to Terrasen only the day after Ragnar and Eva arrived, accompanied by Oren’s brother and sister, neither her nor Oren had wished to look at Viktor’s face. But Atarah had made it clear that she wouldn’t wish to sink so low as Vanserra had.

Amara had nodded at her cousin. It had been her sentiment, too. She’d sent the messenger away, then had excused herself, so she could report to her mother.

“What’s his name?” Seren had asked then, pulling Luna a bit closer to him.

Eva had opened her mouth, but something stopped her then. It had only been a millisecond hesitance, but still – it _had_ happened.

_I wanted that to be the name in your nightmares._

Eva had clutched her spoon so hard she bent it. _No_.

Enough.

He would not succeed.

So, Eva had forced his name out as if she were spitting venom, “Viktor Vanserra.”

Aidan had dropped his fork.

Seren’s eyes had widened. “Come again?”

Everyone’s attention had slipped to them, blinking at their reactions, and even Luna had frowned at her mate, touching his hand as if to silently ask _What is it?_

It was Ragnar who’d said it first. “What?”

Eva and Eldon had shared a look. Hadn’t they had a theory about this, long ago? Hadn’t they been discussing the possibility…

“He’s from your world,” Andrea had whispered. Andrea, who clearly had remembered that conversation, too.

Seren and Aidan had stared at each other for a second too long, but it had been Aidan who’d spoken. “No, we’ve never heard of a Viktor. But the High Lord of the Autumn Court,” Aidan worked his jaw, “is Eris _Vanserra_.”

A long, tense silence had followed.

“An awful coincidence, isn’t it?” Howlan had frowned.

“It’s not a common name in our world,” Seren had said, a little thoughtfully. “The only family with that name has always been Eris’ family. There was never a Viktor in the family tree, I’m sure of it.”

“It proves we were somewhat right,” Eldon had murmured, still staring at Eva. He’d blinked, turning to Aidan. “How many branches does the Vanserra family have? How old, exactly, is the family?”

Aidan had let out an exasperated breath. “A _lot_. And old, _old_. Like, older than my father and uncles _combined_ , old.”

“So,” Eldon had continued, “he could have very well been part of a distant branch. A branch of the family that-”

“Either found its way in,” Eva had said, “or had just _walked_ in.”

“Perhaps in a time where the worlds were one,” Eldon had finished, triumphant. It was a stretch, but…

It was a possibility.

_Possibly_ a clue.

Possibly _another_ step closer to discovering how the portals had come to be.

“That fucker was right,” Eva had whispered. “He thought he was writing stories from his ancestors’ journals. He thought Prythian was a story, made up by them.”

“Is anyone else a little creeped out?” Laelia had said from the head of the table. When all eyes had turned to her, she’d said, “I mean, isn’t it a little bizarre how it all… connects? What were the odds?”

It had been Ferran who had laughed, and shrugged, “The universe is a funny thing.”

“I think we were always destined to meet,” Seren had added, breathing out a laugh when he’d looked down at his mate. “One way or another.”

“Yes, we were,” Luna had murmured, closing her eyes when Seren ahd leaned in to kiss her head.

“You both are disgustingly sweet,” Laelia had commented, sighing dreamily. “I love you both very much.”

“Calm down,” Ferran had whispered.

“Oh, shush,” Laelia had said, waving him away.

“I love love,” Eldon had nodded along.

Luna and Seren had smiled at their family, before joining their hands together over the table, trading looks whenever others had been distracted.

“Thanks for rubbing it in,” Aidan had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, leaving the rest of his breakfast.

“Now, now,” Seren had taunted, “don’t brood. You’ll see her soon.”

Aidan had showed his teeth to his brother. “What a poet you are.”

“I’m so alone,” Howlan had complained, looking around at all the pairs in the room, his eyes ending with Alric and Aran, sitting so close together.

“At least you’re not getting told off for misplacing the hundredth copy of a book-” Ragnar had begun, drawling.

Eva had sent him a look of pure outrage. “It’s my _favourite_ book!”

“You literally have a hundred copies of the same book, Ashryver.”

“Do not _ever_ dare to compare copies of books,” Eva had said, lifting a finger in the air. “Each one is unique and important to me!”

“You need to draw the limit somewhere,” Ragnar had responded.

“ _You_ need to mind your own business and stop losing track my books that _you_ borrow.”

“Oh Gods, they’re at it again,” Andrea had rolled her eyes. “Goddess above help us.”

“Peace was too good to be true,” Andrik had whispered to Ferran, who’d grunted in agreement.

“Pay up,” Howlan had smirked, holding out a hand towards Eldon, who’d looked very much ready to throw his bowl of porridge at his twin’s face.

“We should have known,” Laelia had said, though a knowing smile had made her eyes glint, as they’d jumped between one person to the other.

And everything, or almost everything, had seemed to begin to fall into place at last.

Now, standing under that tree with her mate, her Ragnar, Eva only wished to look forward. The past had no business stretching its claws to catch her.

As they walked together, swinging their hands between them, Ragnar took her deeper into the Perranth woods. Eva breathed in the air around her, smiling when the familiar pine scent came back to her. For the most part of those six months, Eva had been finishing her studies in Caraverre, and Ragnar had been needed here, in Perranth. One day, he would become Lord of Perranth, since his brothers would go off with their own partners, so to say that he had a lot on his hands was another understatement. A week ago, however, when she’d finished up everything in Caraverre, she’d surprised him, and came to see him earlier than they had agreed to meet. Eva will never forget the joy in his eyes when he’d seen her for as long as she lived.

She noticed however, that instead of taking a small detour, they had strayed from the path altogether. “I thought we were going to have dinner,” she said to him.

Ragnar gave her a soft smile. “We are,” then kissed her temple. “Just wanted to show you something.”

“Oh my-” She stopped in her tracks, and Ragnar halted with her, raising his brows. Eva went hot, all over. “Is it a library?” She whispered.

Ragnar breathed a laugh. “You want _another_ library? The ones in Orynth and here are no longer enough?”

Eva shrugged, but laughed along with him. “There’s never enough.”

He said nothing else as he gestured with his head. Intrigued, and a little baffled, she followed him.

As the forest became denser, Eva’s heart began beating more quickly. For some insane reason, her mind conjured another portal to another world, thinking that perhaps Ragnar had found it during one of his early morning runs, and this was the part where he showed it to her. Ludicrous, of course. But she couldn’t conjure any other reason.

She’d been hanging out with Eldon too much.

Ragnar stopped at the end of the trees’ line, where, hidden from view by thick leaves and branches, a meadow stood. Eva looked up at him. “So, can I see it?”

He paused for a moment, just staring at her. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips, and his eyes were incredibly tender.

“If you tried your luck at finger-painting, I want to see it,” Eva guessed. At his answering smile, she added, “No need to be ashamed, we all start terrible at our hobbies.”

Ragnar touched her chin. “I love you.”

“Oh?”

“I love you,” he repeated, leaning in, giving her the briefest, sweetest of kisses.

“And I love you.” Eva had half a mind to rid him of his clothes right then and there, but Ragnar murmured, “Go on.”

Heart beating on her throat, Eva took a step away from him, and pulled back the thick vegetation.

A white cottage.

Lines of trees – apple trees, from the smell of them – had been planted along the sides, framing the house perfectly. White and orange flowers already lined the front of a wooden porch overlooking the water, and more had been planted around, no more than just mounts of dirt now, but would surely bloom in the next season. The wildflowers that had already been there made a pathway toward the little stairs leading up to the house.

And the house itself – it was small, and old, and beautiful. Through the window, she could see a beautiful, marbled mantel and the corner of a cream sofa piled with blankets for her cold feet. Old but – renovated.

He’d done this.

All these months… he’d spent six months doing this. 

Eva stood there, frozen, for what it felt like an eternity and a half. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, but the one thing that kept replaying was, _He remembered, of course he did._

She’d murmured her wishes for her dream house on a desperate night, almost on a whim, picturing it so perfectly, and yet it couldn’t have been more perfect than the one right in front of her, not even in her wildest, most romantic dreams. She should have known, but…

A sound came out of her, and Eva wasn’t entirely sure if it had been a sob or a happy cackle. When she turned to face him, Ragnar still had that soft smile about him, watching her with so much love that Eva thought she might burst with joy right then and there.

He approached her, slowly, as if he might be trying so very hard to treasure this moment, and not end it so soon. He touched her cheek, and Eva leaned into that touch, realizing that, indeed, she had been crying, she had burst into tears the moment she caught sight of that cottage.

Eva wrapped herself around him, her cheek pressed against his warm chest, her hands holding on to him so tight – though he didn’t complain. He held her right back. Ragnar kissed her forehead, and said, “Marry me?”

Eva pulled back just slightly, just to look into those eyes she loved.

“Will you marry me?” He murmured, thumb caressing over her cheekbone. “I love you, Ashryver. I’ll love you even when time is no longer a concept, when the sun has gone and the stars no longer shine. But I guess you already know that. I’ve thought about how I should do this over and over in these last few months, but… I realized that the greatest gesture I could muster was this.” He gestured over the cottage. “It’s not quite finished yet, so _if_ you want it, we could finish it together.” He paused, swallowing hard, eyes wet with emotion. “And perhaps I could be your husband, while we’re at it.”

Only Ragnar would find a way to doubt, even now, that she would want this – this and more – with him, forever. Her mate was still trudging carefully, his eyes, though heavy with love for her, carrying a little fear in them, a little hesitation. He was afraid of making the wrong move, of doing something that would frighten her. That was madness.

His love would never frighten her.

“ _Perhaps_?” Eva managed to blurt out, breathing a soft laugh, blinking through her blurring tears.

Reassured, since she hadn’t run off yet, Ragnar smiled brightly, nodding. Though there was still tension in the corners of his mouth. “Is it alright?” He whispered. “Is this too much? Have I crossed a line?”

Gods.

There was no amount of words that she knew that would suffice in describing her love for this male. There was no amount of time in this world or the next that would enable her to show him and prove to him how happy he’d made her.

“Ragnar,” Eva said, touching his cheeks, leaning him down just slightly so they were at eye-level. “In my fourteenth year, you stepped on my favourite dress with your clumsy feet when your brothers dared you to dance with me at my celebration ball. You looked absolutely mortified, and all I could think of was that I wished I could keep dancing with you all night, though I had no idea how to ask you. In my sixteenth year, you stood in the corner of the room because you were never good with crowds, and no matter whoever came to talk to me, all I wished to do was talk to _you_. In my eighteenth, you were so angry at me I thought you’d scream until your lungs gave out, and I remember feeling sorry for pushing your buttons for the first time in my life, because it was no longer fun teasing you when you weren’t laughing with me. In my twentieth, I realized that a day when I didn’t hear your voice was a day I did not wish to look back on. Now, close to my twentieth-second, I stare at you, and I wonder how I ever managed to believe that the world was anything but beautiful, anything but thrilling, and wonderful and exciting, because I always had you at my side. No matter what. Even in my worst moments, when my moods were so foul that even _I_ could barely stand myself, there you were. You forgave my stupid mistakes and helped me make new ones. You went along with every bad idea, every dumb plan. You had every chance to tell me how wrong I was on several occasions, but you never did.” He smiled at that, leaning in closer to her, his forehead leaning against hers. “I love you,” Eva whispered to him. The wind blew through the trees, kissing their cheeks, and it smelled like him, like the forest, like their home, like a life that was only beginning. “I love you. It has always been a yes. It will always be a yes for you.”

Ragnar took a moment to process the words, to process everything – that he was here, and his mate, his Eva, his loud, beautiful, brave, smart, witty Ashryver was here, alive, and safe, and in his arms, agreeing to spend the rest of her life with him.

He kissed her with a thousand emotions bubbling inside him. And Eva left no feeling untouched, either. She poured every bit of love she felt for him into that kiss, savouring him, his embrace, his touch, his love, knowing for certain that it would last forever, and ever, and ever.

And ever.

When they pulled apart, the world was just beginning to fall asleep.

Eva stared at her mate, and he stared at her.

When she smiled, he smiled with her. And when she told him, “I want to see our home. Will you show me everything?”

Ragnar held her hand, their fingers forever intertwined. “I will, Ashryver.”

“What’s that extension at the back I see?” She wondered, smile widening even as he stole another kiss from her.

“What do you think?” He whispered, kissing both her cheeks. “Your very own little library.”

“My very own?” She would burst out crying again, any minute now. Surely, she might be dreaming. _Surely_.

At her reaction, Ragnar breathed another laugh, pulling her against him. “Your very own,” he confirmed. “To store all your beautiful stories, my love.”

Eva wrapped her arms around him, pulled him down to her. Her lips pressed against his neck in a light, loving peck, and she then said, “Perhaps, one day, I will add our own.”

He gave her a look that conveyed everything he felt for her and more. There was so much love in that gaze. “And that, Ashryver,” he whispered, “will be the most beautiful story of all.”

***

Oren wiped his hands clean with an old cloth, taking the time to wipe the dirt form his fingernails. He breathed in the smell of the wet soil, the grass, tilting his head back towards the blue morning skies with a contented smile playing on his lips.

This was peace.

Looking around his parents’ farm, Oren’s smile refused to vanish. Somewhere, he could hear one of his brothers coaching the horses, and the other one laughing with their mother in the kitchen. From the gorgeous smell, they were making apple pies, covered with layers of cinnamon.

He’d woken up with a strange feeling sinking into his stomach. Not totally unpleasant, like a premonition, but still… _unsettling_.

Oren had gotten busy since early in the morning. A few days ago, his brother and sister had surprised him by coming over, with Raya trailing behind them carrying a bag full of wonderfully made strawberry pastries. How she’d managed to carry that in her beak, Oren would never know. His parents had been enchanted by Thalia the moment she’d shot them her best smile, and Callum had fit right in with his older brothers. Raya had sat with Oren outside that afternoon, while inside the family played a game of cards that sent everyone into fits of laughter every now and then.

“ _So you’re not going to take the title_?” She’d asked him, cocking her head to the side.

Oren hadn’t taken much time to ponder on this. Over the last few months, he’d thought of his father only once, and knew he would be more than satisfied not to lay eyes on him ever again. Enda had clearly stated that Oren would always be welcome at the Palace in their correspondence, but that he understood his decision not to change who he was. His brother and sister had respected his wishes, too, and he hadn’t expected any less from them. Not a word about the matter was said after he’d shared his heart with them, and every now and then they would pop by, fill him in on the newest Court gossip, and Oren, in return, would share with them his own world, his own family.

It was a good life. Better than he could have ever expected for himself.

_“No,”_ he’d told Raya. _“I don’t want to be anything other than what I was before I knew about my father.”_ He’d smiled at her. “And you know I am no Prince.”

_“A title doesn’t make a Prince,”_ Raya had reminded him. _“Look at your sister. Does she act like a Princess?”_

Oren had snorted a laugh. No, Thalia was anything but the stereotypical royal. Sometimes she reminded him of Princess Eva in that aspect. The two of them had linked immediately the day they’d arrived in Orynth.

_“This is my life,”_ Oren had murmured. “ _This is my home. As much as I love you three…”_

_“It’s not a life you wish to share.”_

_“No.”_

“ _It doesn’t matter, you know?”_ Raya had told him. “ _You don’t have to feel guilty about it. Neither of your siblings wish to pressure you, or convince you to join them. They are happy as it is.”_ A pause. “ _They love you either way. And I do, too. You’re a good male, Oren.”_

He’d smiled at her. _“Thank you for taking care of Thalia.”_

“ _We take care of each other,”_ Raya had smiled back. “ _All of us.”_

Oren had not been born for Court. He’d been born for open fields and endless oak trees and gardens and silence. It was one thing to visit his siblings and Enda. It was a completely different thing to share their life. He realized it very soon.

The morning went by smoothly, and by midday, he’d managed to plant a new row of camellias that he knew his father would love once they bloomed into their beautiful bushes. He was washing his hands on the bucket of water his brother had brought him, when he’d felt her.

And that feeling suddenly made perfect sense.

She didn’t arrive in a carriage, but by horseback. Her hair was unbound, her eyes alight. Oren dropped the cloth he’d been using, mouth falling open. Atarah barely had a chance to dismount, for Oren was right there, pulling her into his arms, twirling her around in the middle of the fields, letting out a sound that was both a laugh and a gasp of relief.

She held him tight, so tight, and her hair tickled his cheek as he kissed her, and there was no happiness in the world that could compare to this – to her. His mate.

“Sweetheart,” he said when they pulled apart.

_She’s really here_ , he thought to himself, gazing down at her as she gave him her brilliant smile. “Hello, you,” Atarah smiled. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Preposterous, he thought, shaking his head.

“I thought I’d come see you,” Atarah murmured, her hands sliding down his chest to stop at his waist. “I know it’s not been too long since you were in Suria, but-” She shrugged, then smiled. “It was also an excuse to go on a boat trip.”

“You do love a boat trip,” Oren whispered, touching her cheek.

“And I love you,” Atarah said.

Oren had just touched her lips with his again when he heard a screech behind him. Atarah smiled against him, then pulled back slightly, looking past his arms to the two little girls running towards them.

“Atarah!” Didiane cheered.

They flung themselves into her arms, almost throwing her off balance, and Atarah laughed out loud, pulling them close. “Girls,” she smiled. “I missed you both.”

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!” Mirela chanted.

The first time Oren had taken his mate to meet his family, the girls had taken such a keen interest on Atarah that Oren had found it very difficult to keep the amusement from his eyes. His parents had been more than overjoyed to finally meet her, and his brothers had teased him to no end, though Oren had not been surprised when they’d made an extra effort to make Atarah feel at home. And his mate had loved each of them the moment they’d said their first words to her – he could see it in the way she’d looked at them all, in the way her voice softened when she talked about his siblings, and his parents. Nothing could have made him happier.

“Oh!” Mirela said, stepping back to admire the Lady of Suria. “Atarah, can I please, _please_ , touch your blouse? The fabric looks like magical silk!”

Didiane’s eyes glinted. “You look like a true warrior. Like in the storybooks! A warrior princess!”

“Girls,” Oren warned half-heartedly, smiling down at his younger sisters. “Give her a little space.”

“That’s alright, my love,” Atarah said, smiling up at him before turning her eyes to the girls. “I’m afraid it’s not magical, but of course you can.” She extended her sleeves, and laughed as the girls poked the fabric, smiling wide.

“I have a dress with this colour exactly!” Mirela smiled. “Shall I put it on so we can match?”

“That’s a great idea,” Atarah said. “I would love to see it.”

As Mirela ran all the way back to the house, Didiane smiled. “I smell sweets. I’m going to help mama.”

“Go on, then,” Oren smiled at her. “Careful now, tell your sister to run slower.”

Didiane rolled her eyes, but smiled at her big brother. “Like she’ll listen.”

Oren and Atarah watched them go, and as he pulled his mate closer, Atarah smiled brilliantly up at him. “I missed them. I missed _you_.”

“Sweetheart,” Oren grinned. “The sun shines even brighter now that you’re here.”

***

Sleepiness tugged at her, but she felt her mate stir behind her, and her mind came awake at the gentle kisses he left on her neck. Luna stretched her legs in front of her, grunting a little. She’d fallen half-asleep in front of Seren’s fireplace, that steady heart of his beating against her back a soft lullaby sending her further and further into unconsciousness. He still sat behind her, his arms around her middle, holding a book in front of them both.

“I’m sorry, love,” Seren whispered, kissing her ear. “Were you asleep?”

She shook her head, and mumbled something in reply. Seren only breathed a laugh, then kissed her temple. The sofa dipped behind her, and then Luna felt herself being lifted. Her eyes opened just a little to see Seren looking down at her.

“Are we going somewhere?” She yawned.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

Her answering smile hinted at all the things that sentence implied, and Seren breathed another laugh, shaking his head at her. “You’re half-asleep.”

“So wake me up properly.”

“How about you rest?” Seren placed her gently on the mattress, then moved to lie beside her. Luna’s hands drifted over his bare chest, her lips trailing over his jawline almost lazily, as her fingertips followed the line of his trousers…

And then she stopped moving altogether, a soft snore coming out of her.

Seren smiled to himself, brushing his lips over hers. “Sleep well, my love.”

Luna fell hard, and Seren stayed awake for a couple more hours, sometimes gazing at her, sometimes staring at the ceiling in wonder. He’d never been this happy. He’d never found himself worthy of that amount of love.

But it had found him anyway.

Something tugged him out of bed. This was going to be one of those nights where he couldn’t shut his brain off, but Seren was contented just listening to his mate’s soft breathing. He left her for just a few moments, and walked over to his balcony, taking in the fresh air of the night. He leaned his forearms against the railing, then stared out into his city. There was no hollowness in him any longer. There was no sense of being lost in this world. And all thanks to that girl fast asleep on his bed.

He smiled again. Month after month with her, and Seren knew that he’d never be able to get enough.

A warm wind blew over him, messing his hair. Seren shivered, but he wasn’t cold. He looked up at the stars, swallowing hard.

“Leander?” He whispered tentatively.

Silence.

Seren looked behind him, over his shoulder. Luna was still asleep, her arms wrapped around his pillow, her body splayed across the bed.

He turned back to the stars, and that same warm wind touched his cheek. Seren sighed softly, then whispered, so softly, so Luna wouldn’t wake, “Nora said you might be around.” A pause, as Seren considered the question that had been wrapped around his mind for the past few months. “Do you hate me?”

Of course, Leander had no way of answering. But Seren still said, “I don’t want you to hate me. I know you love her.” Seren hung his head. “I love her, too. More than I could ever put into words.”

He felt that wind again, and Seren decided that if Leander wished to hate him, he wouldn’t be standing here trying to speak with him. “Nora also said you didn’t want Luna to know you were here yet.” He sighed again. “I understand that choice. But she loves you, still. I know she does. I think…” A pause. “I think if she talked to you, it would give her peace of mind-”

_I don’t think it would._

Seren paused, frozen in place.

He’d heard his own voice, like a thought, but Seren knew he hadn’t conjured that thought himself.

_Don’t be afraid. I never wanted to hurt you._

Seren breathed in very slowly. “Why not?”

_Isn’t it obvious?_

“Because Luna loves me.”

Seren laughed inside his own head – no, _Leander_ did. _That, too. But also because you’re good._

“I want to ask you so many things,” Seren whispered. “Why have you only spoken to me now?”

_You’ve never let me in before. You were always frightened of me._

He’d been unconsciously driving Leander away. Perhaps, deep inside, Seren had been terrified. Terrified that he’d never…

_Live up to me?_ Leander asked him. _You don’t have to. She doesn’t see you as a replacement, you know._

“I do know that.”

Seren thought he could sense Leander smile. _There’s no competition, Seren._

“Do you know… do you know her thoughts, as you know mine?”

_Yes._

“Is she in pain still?”

_Sometimes. It’s a quiet thing, not like before. She doesn’t long for the past to come back anymore, though. She’s accepted that I’m gone._

“What can I do?”

_Be there for her, always._

“I will be.” Seren hesitated before asking his next question, “You’re still here because of her, aren’t you?”

Leander went silent.

“She can’t let you go,” Seren murmured.

_She will someday._

“I’m sorry,” Seren said. “I’m sorry you’re not here. I’m sorry for everything.”

_I don’t regret a thing._

_I’m grateful for you, Seren._

_I know Luna is, too._

_Take care of her._

Leander left him with those words hanging above his head. Seren breathed in, looked up at the stars again, and froze as he felt Luna stir.

“Seren,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“I’m coming, love,” Seren whispered. He leaned away from the railing and smiled up at the stars.

The universe wasn’t big enough to fit all the gratitude inside his heart.

***

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Andrik Lochan looked up from his sketches, his ink-stained fingers poised over endless parchments scattered all over his desk. His chambers looked an absolute mess, but he paid no mind to any of it, not as Rhiannon walked over to him, and sat sideways on his lap.

“Hello, witchling,” Andrik smiled, kissing her jaw. “I thought you’d gone for a ride.”

“Wind’s picking up,” Rhia said. “Your mother was too worried.”

“Ah, Lady Elide and her endless worrying,” he said. “Did she beg you not to go?”

“She did, and I couldn’t go against her wishes.” Rhia shrugged. “Azul is also taking a nap – playing around with the horses got him exhausted.” She looked over to his sketches and smiled. “Is this the dress?”

“Well…” Andrik sighed, wrapping one arm around her waist, while his left hand picked up the ink pen again. “It’s coming together. Eva made no demands, she just asked me if I wanted to design her dress and do whatever I wanted. But it turns out that designing my own clothes and designing a wedding dress are two completely different things.” He smiled. “I’m just following my heart.”

“As you’ve always done,” Rhia whispered, smiling against him before kissing his cheek. “I wonder…”

“Hum?”

Rhia kissed the place right beneath his ear, and smiled when the pen slowly dropped from his hand, Andrik’s breath catching in his throat. “Whether…” she trailed her lips down, following the line of his neck, stopping by his pulse point, “… you’d like to take a break.”

Andrik sucked in a breath. “Gods, yes,” he whispered, and pulled her flush against him, chest to chest, eye to eye, before lifting her up. Giggling under her breath, Rhia wrapped her arms around him, and allowed Andrik to lead her to the mattress, while giving her a thousand million kisses.

***

“Seven hells,” Asterin grunted, crossing her arms at the sight in front of her. “My sister is too easy on you. Stop tormenting the damned horses, Azul.”

Azul, to his credit, only rolled onto his back like an undisciplined puppy, his massive tongue rolling out of his mouth between dangerous, sharp – and rather useless, in his case – teeth. Some horses poked their heads out of their cots to stare, while others shivered in their own corners, unsettled by the sight of such a big beast in their home.

“Come,” said Asterin, pointing a finger at her feet. “ _Come_.”

Nothing.

A soft laugh that brought back memories of lazy afternoons in warm embraces and cotton bedsheets made Asterin look over her shoulder. Andrea Lochan leaned against the barn doors, smiling up at the witch. “No luck yet?”

“No,” Asterin said, pleased to see her, but still brooding. “I swear I can never train him.”

“So don’t,” Andrea shrugged.

“That’s not an option,” Asterin said. “A wyvern has to be disciplined.”

“Says who?” The Lochan girl dared.

“Says _me_ ,” Asterin cooed, raising a brow.

Andrea walked up to her, and every muscle in Asterin’s body stiffened. It was the same feeling of when she was getting ready for combat, only this time the only thing she’d be fighting was the need to kneel in front of Andrea.

The youngest Lochan touched Asterin’s cheeks, and smiled wide. “The weather’s gone to shit. Spring rains have arrived. Come relax.”

“I _can’t_ sit still, Andrea.”

“Oh?” Andrea said sweetly. “Not even with me?”

Asterin paused, searching her eyes. Goddess, she loved those eyes. Andrea kissed her lightly, with barely any pressure, and Asterin swore she felt her feet leave the ground. She felt weightless whenever Andrea kissed her like that. And then Andrea closed the distance between them, and deepened the kiss. Asterin didn’t get a chance to get lost, because Andrea gently pulled back and smiled at her, cheeks pink, eyes alight. Asterin could feel her very own blood rise, too.

Andrea said, so lovingly, “I can keep you still. We can curl up in bed, and I’ll run my fingers through your air, and kiss your neck, and your lips, and wrap my arms around you so that you know I’m not letting go.” She pecked Asterin’s lips. “Come on. Father made chocolate pudding.”

Asterin let out a long breath, feeling her cheeks hot. She imagined her face with all its blue patches – thanks to this girl. She took Andrea’s hand, and whispered, “I do love your father’s deserts.”

“More than you love me?”

Asterin scoffed, and pulled Andrea close as they walked. “Never.”

***

In the late afternoon sunlight, Atarah stepped out into the fields and breathed a soft, happy sigh.

What a rollercoaster of a few months.

Doranelle was just as beautiful as she remembered. Just as peaceful. In a way, it was like being at sea. Sometimes, it was even better.

She’d disregarded her leathers for a soft linen dress and flats. It was warmer here, far away from the spring winds of Suria brought in from the ocean. The sun touched her face as she stretched. It had been a while, after all, and her muscles were a little stiff. By now, everyone was making their way home to make supper, and Atarah saw the perfect opportunity to come outside.

She began by lifting herself on her tiptoes. Of course, these weren’t the appropriate shoes, but nevermind that. Slow steps at first, and then she was dancing. The movements were slow, and a little clumsy, but Atarah was surprised to find that her body still remembered what it felt like to dance.

It felt like hours.

Her heart was so open now. Stitched together and bandaged, but still open. That was another victory by itself.

Atarah didn’t know how much time had gone by when she sensed her mate step out, watching her. She twirled, gave him a smile and he leaned against the porch, smiling at her. His green eyes were so clear in this light, so beautiful.

“I’ll never get tired of watching you dance,” he said to her.

Atarah gathered the skirt of her dress. Twirled towards him, laughing. Oren caught her, kissed her gently. “I could teach you,” she suggested.

“I’d rather watch you, sweetheart,” he said, laughing softly. “I don’t think even a hundred lessons could ever make my feet less clumsy.”

“Everybody can learn,” his mate said, kissing his chin. “Besides, you’re not _that_ clumsy.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and Oren gave her a little grin that suggested he had something up his sleeve. “Oh, what is it?” She grinned back.

Oren pulled a letter from his pocket. Atarah caught sight of the Queen’s insignia. She raised her brows in question, and Oren smiled down at her. “We, sweetheart, have a wedding to go to.”

***

She couldn’t look at books any longer.

Her head

was going

to

explode.

As she sipped her coffee, tuning out the noise of the coffeeshop entirely, María stared out the window at the busy streets, her eyes unfocused. She could feel a headache start to form.

Hm.

Perhaps she’d done enough studying for today.

She finished her drink, gathered her things, and left, relieved to see the day come to an end. She craved a bath. And something sweet. But most of all, she craved-

A boy was leaning against the far building, as if waiting for something. Baby blue eyes found her amongst the crowd without having to search, and María stopped in her tracks, almost having a stranger collide with her. She muttered a clumsy apology, but she was frozen in place.

The boy smiled at her, a hint of mischievousness in the lift of that mouth she’d kissed a hundred times over. His clothes, of course, weren’t really the norm, but people paid no attention to him. She wondered whether he’d glamoured himself something else about him besides the obvious. His gaze pulled her in. María walked in slow steps, blinking, like she always did, whenever he appeared. It was either that or pinching herself, and that would look weirder.

As she closed the distance between them, Aidan leaned down, “You look beautiful.”

And he looked-

Well, needless to say, but he looked like a fairytale come to life. Even without the wings, and the round ears that somehow didn’t suit him. María only breathed a sigh of relief when he wrapped one arm around her, and she breathed him in – very much real.

“You’re here,” she whispered.

Had it been just last weekend that she’d seen him? It had felt like three eternities.

Aidan smiled again, and instead of kissing her, he touched his lips to her brow – the _tease_. Feeling her displeasure, Aidan laughed against her, and murmured, “Hello, my love.”

“Hello,” María said, shivering slightly at the endearment. “I missed you.”

Aidan took her bag from her carefully, and slung it over his shoulder before taking her hand. “And I missed you,” he told her, thumb tracing circles over her wrist. “I was counting the days until I managed to see you.”

“Why?” María said. “You can see me whenever.”

“I haven’t been home, not exactly,” Aidan smiled.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Erilea?”

It always came as a shock to her to hear about the new developments in Aidan’s side of the world, but it never frightened her. María wanted to know everything, and whenever Aidan had news, he, too, always looked beyond thrilled to share it with her.

“How’s it been?” She asked him.

Aidan stopped then, turning around to face her. He kissed her knuckles, a smile still playing on his lips. With just a simply touch, she was molten lava in his arms. “Would you like to find out?” He whispered.

“You want to take me there?” She asked, blinking up at him.

“If that’s okay,” Aidan murmured. “And if you want to.”

“Of course I do.” The response came instantly, and Aidan was all too happy to receive it.

“What would your answer be if I asked you…” he began, kissing her cheek, “… to come to a wedding with me?”

“A Fae wedding?” María whispered back. “Oh my God.”

“The ceremony shouldn’t be much different than what you are used to,” he smiled. “And I would love to introduce you to a few new friends of mine.”

María took him in – his delighted smile, the way he held her hand. She was so in love with him that sometimes it felt like an ache. “I would love to come with you, Aidan.”

He smiled at her, sweet and tender, and his hand trailed over her cheek in a familiar way. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch, and then he was kissing her, bringing her closer and closer until there was no space left between them. He pulled back too soon, though, aware that they were surrounded by people. Perhaps it shouldn’t have slipped her mind, but it had. It was easy to get lost in him. Aidan, too, looked slightly flustered and a little bit lost for words. “How I manage to go through an entire day without kissing you is beyond me.”

María breathed a laugh. “I would say that’s an overstatement, but I feel that way, too.”

“Damned mating bonds,” Aidan whispered, feigning annoyance.

“Hum,” María smiled, wrapping her arms around his middle. “Damned, indeed. How unfortunate the stars chose you for me.”

“Perhaps they weren’t quite as wrong as we thought, were they?” Aidan teased, touching her cheeks, brushing her hair back.

“No,” María murmured. “I don’t think they were wrong at all.”

***

“So they didn’t kill each other after all.”

Alric’s drawling voice found him in the balcony of his chambers, leaning against the railing and looking down at the party unravelling beneath his feet. Aran smiled to himself, then smiled wider as Alric approached him, kissing the nape of his neck before standing by his side.

“Never say never, love,” Aran mused. “They might still kill each other.”

Alric shrugged. “I don’t know. These last few weeks felt awfully quiet.”

“My sister and Ragnar are not my sister and Ragnar if there isn’t an argument in there somewhere,” Aran laughed. “But that’s them. They just work that way.”

“And we work in a very different way,” Alric smiled, elbowing Aran slightly. “You look handsome.”

Aran wore a cream blazer and matching trousers, while Alric appeared to be his exact opposite. Though much more formal, Alric had decided to stick with his regular darker colours. It suited him perfectly, and Aran was having a very difficult time concentrating because of it.

“You always look dashing to me,” Aran murmured to him. “But today, especially.”

“I had to make an effort for your sister’s wedding, didn’t I?”

Aran snorted. “You mean you never make an effort?” He shook his head. “Of course you don’t.”

“Now, stop with the compliments,” Alric tutted. “And look at me.”

Aran did, turning his whole body to Alric.

Alric’s eyes softened. “I love you, Prince.”

Aran pulled Alric close by his tunic, smiling when Alric let out a little sound. “We have to be downstairs in five minutes. Don’t give me those eyes.”

“What eyes?” Alric asked too innocently.

Aran smirked, but leaned in, brushing a kiss over Alric’s lips. “Showtime, my love,” Aran smiled. And gave Alric his arm. “Shall we, my handsome spy?”

“We shall, my darling Prince.”

***

They were all there.

Feyre, sitting close to Aelin, and Rhys on her side, murmuring something low to Rowan. Elide and Elain lost in their own conversation, Nesta and Manon speaking in low tones. It wasn’t surprising to anyone that these two had become fast friends, not even to the King of Adarlan. Beside Dorian, Lysandra and Aedion both laughed at whatever Morrigan had said, Amren rolling her eyes right next to them, as if fighting to keep the smile on her lips from showing too much. Her mate, the Prince of Adriata, touched her hand at some point, and as their eyes met, you could see Amren softening visibly. Varian seemed to have that effect on her.

Astrid and Nora sat close together with Laelia, Amara, Ferran and Andrea. Astrid had grown a special admiration towards both Asterin and Rhiannon, asking them all sorts of questions about flying on the backs of wyverns, and in return, Rhiannon had mumbled that having wings must be _fucking wild_ (cue in Andrik’s smile at her wonderful expression), with an agreeing nod from her younger sister. Naza, Seren, and Luna walked over to Aidan and María, and while those last two had been gushing about each other _to_ each other, they seemed to come back down to earth when Naza muttered _I can’t stand all you mated couples being all disgustingly sweet around me, so for the love of the Cauldron, spare me_. Amren’s children, Zelos and Paz, sat quietly behind them. Paz hadn’t missed her brother’s lingering gaze. It became so bothersome that she stepped on his foot, and gave him a warning glare. Zelos only responded with a sneer, but he did turn his eyes away from Luna before Seren could notice. He tried his hardest not to let his eyes wonder, he did. But he found that he couldn’t.

Eldon and Howlan looked dashing in their tunics, and while Howlan was distracted by Elide and Lorcan’s conversation, Eldon’s eyes, too, had strayed.

To the winged female speaking with Rhiannon.

His throat had closed up the moment he’d taken one good look at Astrid, but the female had yet to look at him. He was beginning to realize that she wouldn’t.

And perhaps that was for the best.

***

“Last chance to run.”

“That is the stupidest joke you could make right now,” Eva said to him in her deadpan voice. “Like, the absolute worst.”

Ragnar only laughed as she straightened his tunic, brushing away invisible dust. “I only aim to annoy you, my loveliest Ashryver. You know that.”

“I cannot wait for a lifetime of that.”

“Like I said,” Ragnar winked. “Last chance.”

“Oh, Gods, do you want to marry me or not?” Eva said, her voice cracking at the end as a laugh burst out of her.

Ragnar’s smile softened, and his hand touched hers. He took one good look at her, framing the picture in his mind. No painter would ever be able to immortalize this image as well as his mind would. She looked beyond beautiful. She…

She was his mate.

And she was wonderful, and she riled him up, and made him feel like the luckiest bastard in all the world. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

“Right,” Eva said, poking his chest. “So stop thinking I’ll run away. I love you, you idiotic Lochan. I love you and I love you and I love you.”

“One more time,” he whispered.

Eva touched his cheeks, and kissed his lips. “I love you,” she whispered back. “And when we open those doors, I will not run. I have never wished to run from you, and I’m not going to start now. You are everything, Ragnar.”

He took her hand, and kissed her knuckles. “You are my everything.”

Eva smiled, her eyes glittering.

A quiet cough was heard, and both Ragnar and Eva turned to see Atarah and Oren smiling behind them. “Sorry to interrupt,” Oren smiled.

“Just letting you know that the Priestess is ready whenever you are,” Atarah grinned. Then winked. “We’ll be outside.”

“Do control my brother, Atarah, please,” Ragnar said, laughing as he said so. “Andrik is known to be… well, you already know.”

Atarah gave him a knowing smile, and then they slipped out, leaving Ragnar and Eva staring at each other.

Ragnar took a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Eva murmured.

Ragnar took her hand. “I’ve been ready the moment you kissed me in that library, Ashryver.”

“ _You_ kissed _me_.”

“We’re not going over this again,” Ragnar smirked. “Especially not now.”

Eva gave him a sideways look that promised a rematch, but she nodded, and tugged on his arm. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Ragnar smiled. “I know I am.”

***

The moment Ragnar kissed Eva in front of all their family and friends, a million little blossoms were thrown at their heads. The cheers, the laughter, the smiles… the gardens of Orynth were filled with it all. These were the gardens they had ran along, when they were younglings chasing each other playing tag, or finding each other in the secret corners of statues and alcoves. These were the gardens where they’d had their first big fight, stomping away from each other. But these were also the gardens where they had announced to their family, when they had gathered together, that they would be getting married.

Lysandra and Aedion held each other, and while the Prince wiped his tears, Lorcan slapped his back as if to say _, Hang in there_. Elide, on the other hand, cheered with the rest of the family, her smile prouder than it had ever looked before.

When they pulled apart, Eva smiled up at him, and Ragnar touched her cheek, murmuring, “Are you happy, Ashryver?”

“The happiest,” Eva said to him. “What about you?”

“Me?” Ragnar shook his head slowly. “I have the entire world in my arms.” He kissed her again, amongst all those cheers. “Who else can say that?”

“Me,” Eva said, searching his eyes. “I can say that, too.”

“To forever with you,” Ragnar whispered, touching his brow with hers.

“To forever,” Eva repeated. “And long after that.”

***

The celebrations lasted until the grand hours of the night.

It had been the most beautiful event since Rowan and Aelin renewed their vows a few years back. And while most people cheered, a few were caught with their noses in handkerchiefs, especially Andrik. Atarah did good on her promise, patting his back, while Rhiannon stifled a smile behind her hand.

Now, with everyone’s feet aching, the musicians played slow ballads and romantic folk songs, the bride and groom swaying in each other’s arms with their family dancing in pairs around them.

Ferran watched them all. He’d bid goodnight to his brother, and had kissed his new sister’s cheek, and, exhausted, he’d marched on to his chambers. Though he still accompanied the party from his own balcony, without the ache and discomfort of wearing Court appropriate clothes.

A knock was heard before Ferran whispered, “Come in, love.”

Amara walked up to him, her pale blue dress trailing behind her. She kissed his shoulder, and Ferran breathed a contented sigh, pulling her close. They watched their family laugh and dance and drink and make fools of themselves with endless smiles on their faces. After a moment, Amara murmured, resting her head on his shoulder, “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”

Ferran breathed a laugh. “I had loads to worry about. And still do.”

“Perhaps,” Amara said, trailing a hand over his unbuttoned sleeves. “But, at the end of the day, everything worked out for the best. Don’t you think so?”

The warmth of her breath on his cheek and the scent of sugar around her made him turn to her. Amara smiled up at him, leaned in on her tiptoes, and kissed him, so lightly.

Ferran deepened the kiss, and Amara smiled against him, pulling him ever so close. She broke the kiss, however, to tell him, “We took our time with each other, too, remember?”

“I do,” Ferran breathed.

“And we were not without our trials and tribulations,” Amara smiled, resting her hand on his cheek. “And look where we’re at now.” 

Ferran smiled wider when Amara took his hand, sliding it down her abdomen, to rest over her tummy. She gave him the most beautiful of looks, adoring, and loving. Ferran let out a soft sigh. “When should we tell them?” He murmured, caressing the littlest bump, hidden by the flowy dress she wore.

The little life they had created was still so tiny, that not one member of their family had managed to scent it yet. But Ferran had, of course. They’d just found out a few days before.

“Let’s wait it out a little,” Amara murmured back. “Let Ragnar and Eva have the attention for once.”

“They do deserve it, don’t they?” Ferran sighed. “My father is going to cry rivers when he finds out you’re with child.”

“I’ll be most delighted to see that,” Amara confessed, holding on to a grin. Then she touched Ferran’s cheek, smiling up at him. “You look happy.”

“I am,” he said to her. “How could I not be?”

Amara wrapped her arms around his shoulders when Ferran took her into his arms. She breathed a soft laugh. “And you see, all of them had their happy ending, one way or another. And it’s our job to worry, but I don’t think we need to. Look at them.” Her eyes turned to the party at the same time as Ferran did.

Eva and Ragnar had sat down in the far corner of the garden, murmuring back and forth to each other. In the centre of the party, his brother Andrik was clearly very drunk, with an equally drunk Rhiannon laughing beside him, drinks in hand, while a very sober Asterin looked on in absolute disapproval with a happy Andrea kissing her cheek. Seren and Luna were still dancing, ignoring the music, ignoring the entire world.

Amara smiled as she saw her mother, Feyre, her sisters, Elide and Lysandra pulling Manon into the centre, twirling around in a happy, drunken circle, while Rowan and Rhysand widened their eyes a little. Even the Illyrians, Cassian and Azriel, stood side by side, laughing at whatever Morrigan had told them. Amren and Varian were nowhere to be seen.

And then – a new development. Nora and Laelia dancing together, twirling beautifully in each other’s arms, a blush covering Laelia’s cheeks and Nora all too pleased to make her laugh. Amara’s heart softened, and she let out a long, happy sigh.

Ferran whispered, “Do you think this is what it is? An ending?”

Amara smiled at him. Pulled him close. “Well…” She closed her eyes, her heart bursting with happiness, “… at least for now. Let’s hope for a thousand happy endings. For all of us.”

“May Eva and Ragnar remain this way and allow us to see a thousand more suns without tearing this palace down,” Ferran grinned.

“And may the stars trace the right path for us,” Amara finished for him, “always.”


End file.
